Amidst the Sounding Sirens
by Mandelene
Summary: Alfred Jones has carried the burdens of his family for over twenty years, but when he encounters his forgotten uncle, Dr. Arthur Kirkland, he is offered some reprieve from the deafening sirens plaguing his mind. Up-and-coming nurse extraordinaire, Alfred learns the ins and outs of the hospital alongside Arthur, hoping that he might finally find the silence he's been searching for.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Hello again, everyone! It is with great pleasure that I present to you yet another medical AU. Ever since I completed "Stitching Hearts", I've felt the need to write another story with the right balance of medical jargon and family drama. So, enjoy this teaser! As always, thank you for the support and please spare a moment to leave a review!

* * *

"_There's a battle outside_

_And it is ragin'_

_It'll soon shake your windows_

_And rattle your walls_

_For the times they are a-changin'."_

_-Bob Dylan_

Smoke. Sirens. Eerie silence.

Scampering away from the incoming billow, he ducked as the rush of ash and soot came upon him in a great cloud, trapping him in a searing and frantic nightmare. He thought he was screaming, but he soon understood that no one could hear him as the ocean of debris drew nearer, blinding him with graying smog. There was no stopping, lest he get swallowed by the crippling haze.

If he hadn't known better, he would've assumed he had stumbled upon a war-zone.

He pushed onward, clawing his way through frantic crowds of indescribable hysteria. In fact, he himself was hysteric, coughing with heaving breaths, which were accompanied solely by the tears running down his soot-covered cheeks. Raising a hand to his temple, he could see the far-reaching stretch of flashing lights in the distance. Police cars, fire trucks, helicopters, news reporters—they were all there as witnesses to the inconceivable event.

He tried wailing into the abyss of suffocating carbon, stumbling along as his heart climbed up and into his throat. Lifting his head toward the sky, he could spot the faint outline of sunshine as bodies rushed past him on either side, searching for safety.

Sobbing; an action that familiarized itself with his own anatomy.

There was nothing to do but walk onward, spluttering and exhausted as he drowned out the shouts. He had never felt so alarmed and frightened in his entire life, clutching his phone as he attempted to call the one person who would understand.

He approached the innumerable emergency workers, staring dumbly at the scene. He knew. They knew. Everyone knew the unspeakable. Nothing had remained.

Burning eyes. The static of walkie-talkies. The world around him had collapsed. He swore he was on fire—falling, falling, falling—but no one could spare the time to notice. He was thrown to his knees, palms thrust into his stinging eyeballs as he listened to the arrival of extra sirens in the vicinity.

Sickening sadness. Solemnity for such sacrifice.

* * *

"Dr. Kirkland?"

The clinical green eyes known to belong to Arthur Kirkland tore themselves away from the computer screen momentarily, one elbow balanced on the counter to prop up his aching head. The man regarded the nurse with an exasperated expression, rushing to plead his case. "Yes? I'll be out of your hair in a minute. I know you don't enjoy my company at the nurses' station, Iryna, but I have to complete my charting somewhere."

Smiling mildly, the Ukrainian nurse shook her head, dropping a folder in front of the irate physician. "I _do _dislike you breathing down our necks, but that's not why I'm here. You've been graced with a new patient. He's suffering from abdominal pains and has been vomiting for the past twenty-four hours."

Already saving his progress and standing from his seat, Arthur accepted the proffered medical file with a little sigh. "What finally convinced him to come to the Emergency Room?"

"Dehydration, I suspect."

"Come along, then. I'll need your help in settling him in."

Thus, the pair made their way down the white-tiled hallway, passing numerous ailing individuals before reaching their destination. Casting aside the privacy curtain to one of the many rooms on the floor, Arthur invited himself in, followed shortly by Iryna, who stood by the other side of the bed and began taking the patient's vitals.

Prepping himself for the usual introductions, Arthur nodded at the man in the bed, stealing another moment to peek at the medical file. "Good evening, Mr. Moore. My name is Arthur Kirkland and I'll be your doctor today. Now, I hear you've been having abdominal distress. When did this begin?"

One arm wrapped around his stomach, the man spoke with a grimace as Iryna took his blood pressure. "Yesterday morning. I started having these weird cramps and can't keep anything down, not even water."

"Any other symptoms? Fever? Diarrhea?" Arthur asked steadily, placing the buds of his stethoscope in his ears and resting the business end on the man's abdomen.

"Both."

Nodding once more, Arthur pressed down a gloved hand on the lower right side of the man's stomach firmly, removing it after a few seconds. "Does it hurt when I do that?"

The man shook his head, remaining relatively silent as Iryna recorded his temperature. "A hundred and one degree fever," she declared.

Trying again, Arthur pressed near the navel of the sore stomach, eyeing the patient's reaction. "How about now?"

Another shake of the head. "Nothing, but you're making me nauseous."

Allowing himself a smirk, Arthur moved his prodding hands to the man's mouth, ordering him to open wide. "Sorry, but it was a necessary evil. At least now we know that it doesn't seem to be appendicitis, but we won't rule anything out yet." Taking a moment to examine the man's tongue, he took note of the most prominent obstacle in need of urgent treatment. "Patches on the tongue… You're quite dehydrated. Iryna, let's start him on some IV fluids for electrolyte replacement after a quick blood test. Two milliliters per minute should be slow enough to prevent vein irritation."

"Already on it," Iryna assured, inserting the needle into a vein in the crook of the man's left arm for later use. "It'll feel a little funny at first when I start the drip, but that's normal," she forewarned the patient, calm and soothing.

"So, what's wrong with me?"

Pursing his lips, Arthur addressed the man as he prepared the items necessary to get a blood sample. "It could be a number of things. We'll take your blood and urine to send down to the lab. Then, we'll have a clearer idea as to what we're working with. It's possible that it could be food poisoning. Have you eaten anything out of the ordinary as of late?"

Thinking back to his previous meals, the man finally came up with an answer. "I did order takeout from a restaurant a few days ago. I had chicken, so that might have something to do with it… Argh, I'm sorry… I'm going to be sick."

Snatching up a bedpan with a swift movement, Arthur held it in front of the patient with a neutral and professional stance. Immediately, the man retched into it, mostly dry heaving and spitting up saliva after agonizing over the illness for many hours.

"We'll be wary of possible poisoning from salmonella, in that case," Arthur commented lightly, setting the bedpan aside once the man had finished. "Has there been any blood in your stool?"

Wincing and flushing from embarrassment, the man shrugged his shoulders. "Not that I know of…"

"All right, we'll take a stool sample as well, but first—," Arthur withdrew the butterfly needle from its sterile packaging, deciding to use the man's right arm this time since the other arm had been used for the IV. He searched for a plump and visible vein, poking one testily to deem it satisfactory. "You might feel a pinch," he warned, finally inserting the needle and drawing the necessary amount of blood into a few small tubes.

After marking the blood samples, Arthur rummaged through a nearby cabinet and withdrew two sterile containers. "The restroom is down the hall and to your left. One cup is for your urine and the other for your stool. Try to fill both of them within the next thirty minutes. That way, we'll be able to get the lab results back in a timely manner and see if antibiotics will be necessary. I'll leave Iryna to replenish your fluids now, and she'll be back within the next half hour to collect your samples. Do you have any questions?"

Swallowing heavily, the man shook his head for a final time. "No, I understand. Thank you very much."

"You're quite welcome. Rest well."

And with that, Arthur disposed of his gloves and took some hand sanitizer from the nearby dispenser, rubbing it briskly into his hands before heading back for the nurses' station. There was more charting left to be done on the computer, and he wasn't going to leave it until the end of his shift to get it done. Hopefully, he'd be able to leave punctually because it had been one of _those _days. The hospital being understaffed and overpopulated, he'd been fairly busy throughout most of the shift.

Blinking his slightly bloodshot eyes at the computer screen once more, he typed as efficiently and hastily as he could manage, filling out patient information and recording the results of the examination of his new patient as well. This was how most of his days were spent, in front of the computer, seeing as actual paper written reports were outdated. The hospital had updated its database, and all doctors and nurses were expected to use the computer system for recording patient care. In most cases, it was a migraine just waiting to happen, especially whenever one of the computers would decide to rebel against them and refuse to work. Or, even worse, delete their notes and cause them to have to start all over again, leaving little time for actual doctoring.

But as tedious as the work could sometimes be, Arthur couldn't imagine himself doing anything else, and had to admit (albeit begrudgingly) that he enjoyed his job. He'd gone through a lot of turmoil to finally become a medical doctor, what with moving away from Britain to flee his feuding family and start his life over again. It wasn't easy, leaving behind all he had ever known, but moving to New York had filled him with an unexpected pleasure and appreciation for city life. London was spectacular, of course, but the bustling city that never slept had its charms as well, something that he often took for granted.

Thankfully, as he reached the end of his errand at the computer, the Emergency Room had simmered down somewhat, most likely due to the fact that the night shift would be starting shortly. He took the opportunity to do his final rounds, happy to hear that the lab results of Mr. Moore had returned, and yes, he had apparently grown ill due to salmonella infested chicken.

Entering the man's room once more, Arthur informed him of the situation and outlined a treatment plan. "We'll keep you on the IV fluids until the vomiting settles down, but we'll hold off on any antibiotics, since they will only exacerbate your symptoms before they do any good. When the fever drops and the dehydration is treated, you'll be discharged, but be mindful that it could take up to five days for your symptoms to completely subside. The night nurse will be in periodically to make sure that your symptoms don't become more severe."

"God, I may never eat chicken again, at this rate. Thanks again."

Saying their farewells, Arthur finished recording any last minute information into the computers before calling it a day. If anything worsened with his patients overnight, he'd be called back to work, but with the way things were going, he wasn't too concerned about being on-call.

Returning home at about nine o'clock, Arthur made himself a cup of tea and tended to the house for a while, only thinking to check the message that had been left on his answering machine after about fifteen minutes of winding down. Sighing, he reluctantly played the voicemail, reclining on the couch as he listened.

"_Arthur, I know that it's been a while since I've contacted you, but it's your brother, Connor. There's been an incident, and I implore you to call me back as soon as possible. I'm sure you still have my number stowed away somewhere. I hope to hear from you soon." _

Click.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Arthur ran a tired hand through his hair. Perhaps there had been a death in the family? But who?

Checking his watch, he realized it was far too late to make a call to Ireland now, considering the time difference, so he would have to gather his patience around him in the morning to return the call. It had been many years since he had heard from Connor, though his other elder brother, Allistor, still sent him Christmas cards and managed to stay somewhat in touch. His final brother, Dylan, occasionally called to make sure that he was still alive, but other than that…

His family was complicated, and having reached an age where all he wanted was a glimmer of peace in his life, Arthur had decided to avoid his family at all costs to avoid any controversies, especially those regarding Connor.

Yes, his second-to-eldest brother was the most troublesome of the bunch. The man still resided in Ireland, and had been divorced for a good number of years. His wife was American, and Arthur wasn't certain where she was now, but she was the one who primarily tended to Connor's two children, Matthew and Alfred. The two boys were twins, and had been born in the States, as far as he knew. Originally, Connor had stayed in America as well, living with his wife and children in Boston. Then, an argument sent him back across the ocean while the twins grew older and went separate ways as well.

If he wasn't mistaken, Matthew had moved to New York at some point, but he hadn't seen his nephew since he'd been a child, so he wasn't sure if he still lived in the city. Alfred, on the other hand… Well, he was clueless as to where that boy had ended up.

Never wanting to get entangled in the mess, and still secretly despising Connor for leaving his children and wife to manage on their own, Arthur broke off most contact with him. His brother could be manipulative and callous, so he made sure to keep his distance.

But if there was a family emergency, he supposed he had no choice but to inquire into what the problem was.

He mulled over the problem for the rest of the evening, getting through three cups of tea before deciding that it was time for bed. He'd be working in his private practice during the following afternoon, so he hoped to catch up on some rest before calling Connor in the morning and heading off to his office. There, he'd play the role of family doctor, dealing with common ailments at a slower pace than at the hospital.

Turning off the lights and climbing into bed, he was asleep within minutes, still perturbed by the internal feeling that something wasn't quite right.

* * *

Morning came at a surprisingly fast pace, leaving Arthur sluggishly rolling out of bed. He forced himself to gather some willpower and made his way down to the kitchen for some breakfast. He'd have to be at his office in four hours, and there were plenty of things to do before then.

Grabbing himself some toast and more tea, he meandered over to the phone in the living room, plucking it up and into his hand. After searching for a calling card in the drawer of a side-table, he finally dialed the dreaded number, checking the clock once more and taking into account the five-hour time difference between New York and Dublin. Apparently, it was noon in Ireland, so there was no reason for Connor to not pick up the phone if he called now. Nevertheless, if the man didn't respond or present him with a valid reason for being unable to reach the phone, he would continue to ignore his brother for the foreseeable future. Mustering the strength to call him once was arduous enough, but _twice_? No, he certainly wouldn't display the same effort to contact him again.

Tapping his fingers apprehensively on the coffee table as the other line began to ring, he waited a good ten seconds before hearing a click of life.

"Arthur?" a familiar voice muttered.

Gritting his teeth, Arthur pressed the phone more roughly against his ear. "Yes, Connor? Please do enlighten me as to why you had a sudden change of heart and felt the need to contact your dear younger brother. I am quite busy, I'll have you know, and can't spare any time for your antics."

There was a moment of hesitation from the other. "It's…nice to hear from you again. You've been avoidant for a long while, brother."

"Spare me the sentimentality. Who passed away?"

Connor seemingly strained to speak at the blunt statement, grunting for a moment before continuing. "I didn't—that's not my reason for ringing you. Actually, I'm calling because of Alfred."

Clicking his tongue, Arthur brought his free hand to his chin in thought. It was a shame that something had happened to the lad, he was still rather young—probably in his mid-twenties by now—and though they had never been close, Arthur felt something in his heart stir upon hearing that someone so young was unwell.

"What's wrong with him?" he mumbled bluntly. If the boy was ill, he'd send over some money and condolences before going about his life. After all, there wasn't much else he could do.

Connor waited a few seconds to formulate the right words. "Well, he's moved to New York recently, and he's having a smidgeon of trouble adjusting. He's been to New York before to visit his brother, but obviously this is a more difficult transition. You see, he won't admit to needing help, but he's out of work, and could use a certain uncle's help to arrange work for him at a hospital."

"And what makes you think I'll do that? He's a grown man, is he not? I'm sure he can manage to procure a job on his own," Arthur griped, already despising where this was going.

Taking a deep inhale, Connor went on, unfazed. "The laddie's just finished nursing school, and I owe it to him to be able to aid him in some way."

"I'm sorry, but I shan't allow myself to be used as a means to rekindle your relationship with your son. If you want to help him so much, why don't you travel to New York yourself? Leave me out of it."

"But Arthur, you don't understand. I don't have the capability to make such a trip at the moment, and the boy refuses to talk to me."

Arthur huffed hotly. "I can't say I blame him."

"He's been through… many difficulties as of late. Please, brother, he's your nephew and he's just a short distance away. I would appreciate it if you could check in on him and help him with work. I've been a horrible father to him, so don't do it for me, but do it for the poor lad's sake," Connor beseeched, sounding rather emotional and fervent, which was very uncharacteristic of him.

Scoffing, Arthur stepped toward the window, glancing outside to see what the weather would have in store for him for the remainder of the day. "Connor, his twin brother lives in this damned city as well, I'm sure he can offer him a helping hand should he run into a problem with finding a job in time. And what about his mother? Honestly, I won't be falling for another one of your ploys."

There was a long silence during which time Arthur considered hanging up, but something instinctual kept him from doing so. Something was making him feel nervous, almost like a sense of impending doom.

"Matthew doesn't reside in New York any longer, and their mother is unwell."

"Unwell?"

"Yes, unwell, though I won't bother you with the details, since you're so quick to jump to conclusions on your own."

Anger rising, Arthur hissed a reply. "Listen, you asked for my assistance and then you—"

"I'm sorry."

He was dumbfounded. Connor never apologized, not to him, not to anyone. For a moment, he acknowledged the genuine sincerity in the man's voice, and it was enough to render him speechless for a couple of minutes. It seemed like a simple enough task—recommending Alfred to Human Resources at his hospital, so that he would have a better chance at getting hired. After all, he didn't hold any grudges against his nephews, and it wasn't Alfred's fault that his father was a complete and utter prat. If he could do this one thing for his nephew to make the boy's life at least somewhat less miserable, then maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to lend him some advice. Additionally, his mother was supposedly ill, and he guessed that he could spare some sympathy for his nephew, at least for once. Maybe the boy would finally see that at least someone in the Kirkland family was a gentleman with warm intentions.

Clearing his throat and doing his best to sound apathetic, Arthur replied, "I'll see what I can do. Leave me his number and I'll call him when I have the time."

"Oh, Arthur… Thank you—you have no idea how grateful I—"

"Must I remind you that I'm not doing this for your benefit?"

"Aye, I understand… Alfred will appreciate it, I'm sure… Now, let me get that number…"

After saving the contact in his cellphone, Arthur gave a curt goodbye to his brother and set down the phone once more, feeling a rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

He thought back on the last time he had seen the twins, they were no older than toddlers, blue-eyed and brimming with an unabashed cheerfulness. If he thought about it, he could remember holding them in his arms before they could barely talk, gurgling words in gibberish and smiling nearly toothless smiles.

Never having had children of his own for multiple reasons, Arthur's mood brightened with the thought, wondering exactly how the twins' lives had played out after Connor had left them.

Well, now was his chance to find out. Preparing himself for work, Arthur decided that he'd give the boy a call in the evening.

He arrived at his office a few hours later, going about his usual schedule as he prepared himself for a day of providing physicals and treating colds. He would endure this process until six o'clock, during which time he would be able to go home and brace himself for another day at the hospital tomorrow. Usually, if he wasn't needed at the hospital, he was left to tend to more ailments at his private practice, not really minding the hectic schedule. He still had his fair share of days off and vacationing time, so he didn't have much of a reason to complain.

Overall, the hours spent in his office were not very demanding, and the change of pace was relaxing. Here, he could spend more time with his patients, getting to know their history and finding a suitable treatment plan for them without feeling pressed for time at every given moment.

Today, the office had been quiet, with just a few patients coming in with mild illnesses. As a matter of fact, he spent the majority of the day in solitude, creating small talk with the receptionist every once in a while. Having some spare time for lunch, he decided that perhaps now was a good time to call his nephew, considering that he might not find the will to do so at a later time. No use in procrastinating, he supposed.

Shutting the door to his private office at the end of the corridor that was filled with exam rooms, he plopped into his chair and withdrew his cellphone. He eyed the new contact for a long moment, wondering what the boy's reaction would be. Perhaps a polite and neutral tone was what he should be aiming for, dealing with the situation promptly so that he could go back to his daily doings.

Finally calling the boy, Arthur was surprised to find that he didn't have to wait long for a response, as Alfred had probably answered the call without checking the number to see who was actually trying to reach him.

"Hello?"

The American accent was more than enough to let him know that he had, thankfully, reached the right person. "Yes, is this Alfred Kirkland?"

There was a heavy beat of silence, but Arthur could still hear some rustling in the background. "Jones. Alfred Jones."

That was odd. "Then, perhaps I have the wrong number?"

"No, I'm sure you've reached the right person. I… I had my name changed, you see. May I ask who's calling?"

Very strange, indeed. "Ah, I apologize for not introducing myself sooner. Alfred, my name is Arthur Kirkland. I'm your father's brother…"

"Right," Alfred remarked slowly, contemplating the news. "How can I help you?"

"Actually, I intend to help _you_. Your father contacted me recently and requested that I help find you a job. I live here in the city and work as a general doctor at a hospital just downtown. I heard that you're looking for a position as a nurse. Are you looking into being a PCT, LPN, or RN?"

Alfred gave a little cough, clearly feeling awkward and uncomfortable with the conversation. "RN… I'm sorry, I don't know why my father informed you of such things, but I'm faring well on my own. Thank you for the offer, but I'm afraid there's nothing that you can do for me. And, not to be rude, but I've had enough of dealing with my father and his family. Have a good day…"

Arthur frowned, anyone who was an enemy of his brother was clearly a friend. "Wait! I stay away from my brothers like the plague as well, but as your uncle, surely there is something I could do for Matthew or yourself."

Deafening stillness met him, and he wondered if Alfred had already hung up the phone. "Hello?"

"As I said before, there is nothing you can do for us…"

"I insist," Arthur urged, determined to do something to rid himself of the guilt in his heart. God, he hated Connor for not only tearing apart his own life, but the lives of his nephews as well. "At least allow me to schedule you a job interview. We don't even have to meet… Just e-mail me your résumé and I'll be sure to take care of the rest."

Unsure of how to make the offer any more inviting, Arthur waited for a response, hoping he'd gotten through to the boy.

"If… If it isn't too much trouble, I suppose…"

He released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "Of course not. I'll put in a good word for you."

"Thank you again…"

"Don't dwell on it," Arthur assured before giving the boy his email address. After that had been settled he added lightly, "We'll stay in touch."

"Yeah, I guess so."

And he didn't know it then, but there was something about the way Alfred spoke—the subdued stubbornness and unwillingness to admit to weakness—that he could greatly relate to. There was so much that he was still unaware of that he wanted to find out, but perhaps the mysteriousness shrouding Alfred had been what had drawn him to him in the first place, convincing him to help. His nephew—the boy he hadn't spoken to in approximately twenty years—seemed to have a natural ominousness around him, and he was compelled to know why.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Something that I always strive to achieve with AUs like this is the freedom to be able to remove the story from the fandom and have it be able to stand on its own, so that even someone who isn't familiar with Hetalia can still enjoy the story. Thus, it was necessary for me to create a character that would be able to expand upon that aspect. Never fear; she belongs here and has a crucial supporting role despite my dislike of OCs. She will become much more relevant as well as less ambiguous in the future.

Now that I've gotten that out of the way, please enjoy the chapter and don't forget to leave a review!

* * *

There were times when he wanted nothing more but to stand upon the rooftop of the rotting and decrepit apartment complex that he had chained himself down to, bellowing into the void of the night for absolution. His resolve swathed in burning acid, he would tear the morose words from his veins, freeing himself of the handcuffs chafing his skin.

The chorus of the earth would draw him nearer, tempting him to forgo the pain of wounds that were still far too raw.

But then he would remember and peer resignedly at the obligations surrounding him—his conscience mocking his own selfish indulgences.

"All right, you can do this. It's the last lap of the race, man. You've come this far, and there's no quitting now," Alfred Jones stated into the mirror, self-coaching himself for motivation. Blue eyes gazed back at him, determined and unwavering as he straightened his posture and made an attempt to look as professional as possible. "I would like to work at your establishment because… I'm going to blow this, aren't I?"

Lowering his head into his hands sulkily, he felt himself flinch as a voice spoke up from behind him, catching him off guard. "No, you won't."

Twirling around to face the intruder, he let out a shaky breath and a wan smile, fondly ruffling the hair of the eight-year-old girl that had eavesdropped on his inspirational speech. She was short in stature, reaching just above his hip as she patted his back encouragingly, obviously wise beyond her years. The pair seemed to be well-acquainted and comfortable with one another's presence, almost like old friends. "Thanks, Zoey-bee. I'm just a little high-strung because I really want to do well at the job interview. How do I look?"

"Well," the girl started haughtily, standing up on the wooden chair in the bedroom to better rival Alfred's height. "I think you look very handsome."

Throwing his head back with a bubbling laugh, Alfred felt his cheeks turn pink at the remark. "Thanks, sweetums. I guess anything looks better than the ratty apron that I used to wear at the diner, huh? I don't know about you, but I'm glad that those days are over."

Mulling over the thought, Zoey seemed to grow a little downtrodden. "Yeah…"

Alfred was quick to respond, lifting his accomplice off of the chair and setting her safely on the ground once more. "What you don't like the new apartment? I thought you'd like New York."

"I _do _like New York… I just don't like the apartment," Zoey emphasized importantly, slinging her backpack across her shoulder. "And I don't like it when the neighbors make a lot of noise… You've already had to call the police on them twice. They're always fighting and shouting."

Glowering, Alfred straightened his lopsided tie before offering to carry Zoey's backpack for her. "I know, darling, but if I get this job and save up some money, we'll be able get a better apartment. You'll even get your own room instead of having to share with me. Doesn't that sound awesome?"

"Really?"

"Really. Now, let's get movin' or else we'll both be late."

The two made their way out of the apartment and into a rickety elevator, both attempting to ignore the horrid smell of burning garlic and onions coming from somewhere around the corner of the hallway. Zoey accepted the honor of pressing the button for the lobby, smiling sadly when she felt Alfred's arms pull her toward his chest from behind. They stayed in this position for the duration of the elevator ride, half-hugging each other for support.

And suddenly, the elevator made a terrible squelching noise, bringing them to a halt before they could reach their destination.

Standing perfectly still, Zoey could feel Alfred's arms beginning tremble around her as his breathing quickened. They'd been through this before, so she easily tried to dissipate his qualms. "It's okay, Alfred. The elevator gets stuck all the time, remember? It'll start moving again soon."

But the man was inconsolable, already lost in his own thoughts of pure anxiety as the creeping feeling of claustrophobia came over him. He waited for the fall and crash—expected metal and brick to cave in on them. He squeezed Zoey closer to his protective form, a cold sweat beginning to slick his forehead.

And finally—_finally_—the elevator hummed with energy again, slowly lowering them until they had reached the lobby and the doors had opened once more.

Stepping out first, Zoey paused a few feet ahead. "Are you okay?"

It took a few moments for him to snap out of his daze, but upon seeing that they were—indeed—unharmed, he trailed after the child, nodding his head steadily. "Just dandy."

Still rather perturbed and worried, Zoey took the man's hand in her own, tugging him out of the lobby and into the outside world. Then, they walked to the subway together, hopping on one of the many crowded express trains heading toward Manhattan.

An elbow-to-elbow packed subway never triggered Alfred's claustrophobic tendencies, as he was more startled by the prospect of tight spaces that were located at a great height rather than those on the ground. Thus, he easily guided Zoey into the swarming pool of people, managing to find the last empty seat for her to sit in. As she looked at the many legs and shoes lining the train car, Alfred's tall figure stood directly in front of her, grasping onto a railing a few feet above her head to keep his balance.

Then, the train intercom crackled with its usual announcement,

"_Ladies and gentlemen, this is an important message from the New York City Police Department; bags and other large containers are subject to random search by the police. Always keep your belongings within sight and protect yourself. If you see a suspicious package, alert a police officer or an MTA employee. Remember, if you see something, say something." _

"If you see something, say something," Zoey repeated in a sing-song tone, giggling at the strange slogan. "Why do they always say that?"

There was so much that the child was still blissfully unaware of, and Alfred wasn't sure if he could find the courage to tell her the whole-hearted truth, so he simply settled on a less complex explanation. After all, Zoey would find out soon enough that not everyone in the world was well-intentioned. "Hmm, they say it to remind people to get help if someone were to bring something dangerous onto the train. Many people don't alert the police because they're too scared."

He hoped her inquiry would be settled after that, and thankfully, the girl did not ask further questions, choosing instead to admire her purple sneakers.

This was the curse of New York, and it fed off of the instinctual and irrational fears of its citizens. Children and adults alike were encouraged to live in a state of constant alarm. The culture of this land was marred with the pollution of terror. In homes and in schools, it was constantly reiterated: be aware of your surroundings, avoid large crowds if possible, and understand that additional security measures were to promote protection from harm. Walk with fear and dread on your shoulders, lest you be caught off guard.

But then, the rational mind would take over, admitting that all of the restrictions meant to establish safety were nothing but part of a ruse to ingrain a false sense of security in a shaken and terrified public.

The two reached their stop about fifteen minutes later, upon which time Alfred helped the child up and out of the mass of individuals. They exited by the turnstiles of the station and climbed up a case of stairs, greeting the morning sun once more.

Still enamored by the prospect of such grand skyscrapers, Zoey craned her neck up at the buildings, in awe of the towering edifices. The glass windows reflected the beams of sunlight, leaving the steel structures glistening with the start of the day.

"Hey, watch where you're going," Alfred cautioned, guiding her out of the path of an incoming stream of people. "People won't be very happy with you if you get in their way."

Sheepish, Zoey stared at the sidewalk ahead of them, realizing her mistake. "Sorry."

"No problem, munchkin. Hey, so have you made any new friends at school?"

"Uh-huh."

"And you weren't lying when you said that you finished all of your homework last night, right?"

"Nuh-uh. You know that I _always_ do my homework!" The child exclaimed, quite offended at the suggestion that she had not been a good student. As a matter of fact, she took her schoolwork very seriously, despite Alfred's near constant teasing.

Chuckling to himself and adjusting the collar of his black pea-coat, Alfred nodded knowingly. "I'm just toying with you. Now, I'm gonna drop you off and catch the bus headed downtown for my interview. Be good, and if everything goes well, we'll go out to celebrate, okay?"

"Gotcha," Zoey assured, skipping along as they crossed the street. "I bet they'll like you so much that they won't even ask you to do the interview."

Snickering again, Alfred squeezed the girl's shoulder as they reached her school, sliding her sparkling pink bag off of his back and handing it to her. "If only… There's your backpack. I made you tuna fish for lunch."

"Again?" Zoey groaned as Alfred crouched down to be at eye level with her.

"Yeah, I know, but I was in a rush. I'll make you peanut butter tomorrow. Now, have a super awesome day, and tell me if Ms. Baker still looks as cute as always."

"Eww, you like my teacher?"

"That depends whether or not she'd fall for a stud-muffin like me," Alfred joked, wrapping the girl in a strong hug before sending her off. "Buh-bye!"

"Bye! Good luck at the interview!"

"Thanks, I'll need it!"

After making sure that the girl was safely inside with her class, Alfred sighed and made his way for the bus stop, hoping beyond all hope that this random uncle of his had kept his word, possibly giving him the chance to achieve the stable job that he could desperately use.

And if things went wrong… Well, he'd just have to keep trying.

* * *

"So, Mr. Jones, why should we hire you? What qualities do you have to offer as a registered nurse?"

The simple questions always demanded the most thought-provoking answers.

Hands folded in his lap, Alfred snuffed out the urge to fidget in his seat as he thought about his potential response. This question could destroy him if he wasn't careful, and he didn't have the leeway to afford a mistake. "I-I have my Bachelor's Degree in Nursing as well as experience from the rigorous coursework that I completed in school. During my clinicals in the nursing program, I became accustomed to working in a fast-moving environment. I've helped tend to a large variety of patients, including those that required extra care, such as patients on a ventilator. I'm diligent, understanding, and am able to work well in a team. My goal is to provide all patients with the utmost care, and to grow through my experiences with them, expanding my skills in the field."

That had to be enough—he'd rehearsed those lines for hours! Suddenly, he feared that he may have rambled too much, his eyes darting toward the nursing supervisor whom had been conducting the interview for the past twenty minutes. He'd already answered a plethora of questions, one of them addressing which unit of the hospital he'd like to work in. He'd stated that he was flexible and didn't have much of a preference, but perhaps he should've shown a specific interest.

"Well, Mr. Jones, it seems to me that you would be an excellent asset to this hospital. I believe you are more than capable of beginning your career as a registered nurse. Now, our Emergency Room is currently understaffed, and while we have other positions available as well, it would be preferred if you accepted this position."

Leaning forward slightly with eagerness, Alfred nodded his head vigorously. "That's fine. I don't mind working in the ER at all."

"In that case, I'll introduce you to our nursing manager on the floor and provide you with all the information you'll need to start as soon as possible. Will you be able to begin in two weeks?"

Slack-jawed and trying not to grin like an idiot, Alfred bobbed his head enthusiastically once more, shaking the nursing supervisor's hand. "That's plenty of time. Thank you very much."

After a few more introductions and clarifications, Alfred met with the ER's nursing manager, Elizabeta Héderváry. He tried to leave a good first impression, seeing as the woman would be constructing his schedule, but he somehow knew that he wouldn't be on the receiving end of her good side. Once that was all cleared up, he left the hospital and decided to have some lunch, seeing as most of the day had flown right by.

By the time he had returned to the familiar elementary school, the hour of dismissal had arrived. Waiting patiently in the tiny courtyard, he caught the attention of Zoey once he had spotted her, waving briefly. As she approached, there appeared to be a flicker of sadness in her eyes before she pasted on a cheery smile, a dimple resting just above the curl of her lips.

"How'd it go?" she instantly queried, locking arms with him.

He frowned. "Short-stuff, it's hard for me to tell you this…"

Mimicking his depressed features, the girl slumped her shoulders.

"I got the job."

Jerking her drooping head upward, Zoey squealed with delight. "I knew you would! Congrats!"

After sharing a long embrace, Alfred bounded up the block. "Thanks, ZoZo. Ready to stuff your face with pizza and ice cream?"

"I was born ready!"

Grinning at the child's contagious glee, he wondered if he'd finally be able to spoil her with all of the riches she deserved.

* * *

"Arthur, I just called to apologize for being so rude on the phone the other day, and to tell you that I really am grateful for you taking time out of your day to help me. I probably wouldn't have been offered the job if you hadn't persuaded everyone."

"It wasn't any trouble."

The response was brief, leaving plenty of room for awkward fillers to keep the conversation going. However, neither man seemed to be in a rush to speak, each basking in the silence for a good moment.

Splitting the ice, Arthur chose to continue. "I suppose you'll have quite a bit of preparation to do before you begin."

"Oh, it won't be too bad. I've had my own scrubs and stethoscopes since nursing school, so I don't really have to go out of my way for much in terms of equipment. I'm more worried about if I've bitten off more than I can chew. Working in the ER definitely isn't going to be easy-going," Alfred explained with a nervous chuckle, scrubbing a hand over his chin. "I'll get used to it, I guess."

Arthur hummed in agreement. "I wouldn't dwell on it too much. Now, it was a pleasure doing business with you, but I'm rather occupied at the moment. If there's anything else I can do for you, don't hesitate to ask. Have a good night."

"I understand. You too… See you around, then?"

"If fate should permit us."

Setting the phone down, Alfred found comfort in a weary sigh, staring up at the ceiling as Zoey seemed to be making some kind of ruckus in the bedroom. "Is everything all right in there?" he grumbled, not really wanting to hear the answer.

"Kill it!"

Furrowing, he raised his head from the armrest of the couch, customary fretfulness taking over. A shrill screech sent him barreling into the aforementioned bedroom, stumbling across the threshold before finding the culprit.

Zoey stood atop the bed in a panicked state, gawking at something on the floor. "Hurry, before it gets away! Kill it!"

"What are you talking about?"

"There's a ROACH! I tried to throw my shoe at it, but I missed!"

Fumbling around for a minute before finding a sturdy enough slipper, Alfred gradually tiptoed toward the unwelcome pest, slamming it down on the creature with a bit more force than necessary.

"There, it's gone," he proclaimed, narrowing his eyes deviously. Within the following seconds, he flaunted the dead remains of the insect, bringing it closer and closer to Zoey with each of her angry protests.

"STOP SCARING ME! IT'S NOT FUNNY!" she fumed, hopping off of the bed and taking refuge in the bathroom. "GET RID OF IT ALREADY!"

Laughing to himself and sticking his tongue out at the child, Alfred carried the slipper to the trashcan in the kitchen, scraping the poor corpse off and depositing it into the bin. "It's okay!" he called into the hallway, eyes still alight with mirth. "He's gone now!"

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

Vigilantly cracking the bathroom door open, Zoey scouted the area before deciding that it was safe to go about her day. "That's the fourth one!" she complained with the hint of a whimper, dejectedly making her way back to the bedroom. "I hate this place!"

"We'll let the super know and hopefully get him to bring in an exterminator."

Whining unhappily, the girl returned to her bed to finish her math homework, ignoring Alfred's apologies and reassurances.

"I know that this place sucks, Zoey-bug, but it's all we've got," the man soothed, perching himself on the edge of the bed. "I-I haven't always been able to give you everything that I've wanted to, but we'll make it through, just like always."

Gripping her pencil tightly, Zoey scribbled an answer in her workbook, sparing a verbal response for her roommate. "It's fine."

Shaking his head, the man rested his chin on the child's small shoulder, pecking a playful and loud smooch on the side of her neck. "It's not, and I'm so sorry, munchkin. I can't go back and change the past to make things better for us."

"I don't blame you… I know you're doing your best, Alfred."

"But it isn't enough," the man mourned, wrapping his arms snuggly around the girl's waist. "One day, I'll send you to Europe, just like you always wanted. Paris, Berlin, London, Vienna, Rome, Amsterdam—you name it. You'll get to see the entire world, if you'd like. Just think about all the different types of people you'll meet. Everyone will have a different story to share, and you'll never feel like you should be tied down to staying in one place. You've got a nomadic soul, Zoey. That means you can never settle for anything, and you shouldn't."

Giggling at the thought, Zoey swiveled her head around to finally meet the charitable blue eyes. "Will you come with me?"

"Nah, you won't want me ruining your fun when you become a world famous journalist. You'll be too busy doing your own thing," Alfred said softly, combing his fingers through the child's long locks. "I'll be watching from the sidelines though, just in case you need a motivator—or a PB and J sandwich provided by yours truly. You'll be out interviewing people for editorials, stepping into their shoes and hopefully letting me know all about your excursions."

"But I'll miss you if you don't come along."

Feeling the words pierce his chest, Alfred struggled to find the right words to say. "There are going to be days when I won't always be able to go with you everywhere."

Shrugging the other's arms away, Zoey frowned deeply. "Why not?"

"I-It's just the natural way the world works. You'll have your own career and family someday."

After a few seconds of deliberation, tears hastily sprung to the girl's eyes, eventually wetting her cheeks. "You can't leave me!"

Burying his face into the Zoey's hair in regret, Alfred firmly shook his head. "I'll never leave you. Don't you worry, darling."

And the way she looked at him—eyes filled with nothing short of limpid horror—drove a knife through his heart. This young child was both a treasure and an assented penance.

"I'm not going anywhere," he vowed, clutching her like a life-line. She was all he had and one of the only things he had left to fight for.

And he would rather die than raise a white flag.

* * *

His first day on the job had been unorthodox, to say in the least.

The morning had begun with a "huddle" at the nurses' lounge; a _marvelous_ idea organized by Elizabeta herself to address her daily grievances, such as not clocking in on time or mishandling the distribution of medications. Nonetheless, the dialogue lasted for only a couple of minutes before everyone went about their way.

He had started off slow, only being given two patients to tend to, considering he was the newest member of the team. And, to make the circumstances even more unfavorable, he was the only male nurse on the floor, surrounded by "the ladies" as he liked to call them, who constantly made it a point to call him out on his gender as a relatively harmless joke.

Hopefully, things would get better with time, and he would simply have to ride out this initial period of being known as the "fresh meat".

Staying professional and deciding to go about his work without comment, Alfred approached his first official patient; a seventy-three year old woman complaining of chest pain. He took her vitals without a hitch, at ease and confident in his abilities until an unexpected visitor interrupted them.

"Ah, Mrs. Davis, how have we been faring?"

Upon hearing her name, the patient turned her head toward the voice, instantly glaring. "Not you, again!"

"Oh, it's always a pleasure, love. And hello, Alfred. First day?"

At first, he was confused as to how this man knew who he was, nearly dropping the pulse oximeter he'd been holding in bewilderment. Then, he took in the vibrant green eyes and yellow hair, only recognizing the doctor's identity once he had come to the realization that he'd heard that same voice on the phone just over a week ago.

"A-Arthur?"

"Please, call me Dr. Kirkland when we're at work," Arthur instructed casually, roaming toward the bed. "Have you abandoned your morning glass of liquor as I suggested, Mrs. Davis? It certainly isn't helping your heart."

The woman mumbled something under her breath, hissing peevishly at Arthur as he placed the end of a cold stethoscope above her breast.

"You cannot be medicating yourself with beta-blockers and alcohol at the same time, as I have explained to you before. Have you at least attempted to take the Atenolol that I prescribed?"

There was a noncommittal sound, upon which Arthur gave his patient a disapproving look. "Alfred, what was her BP?"

"150 over 92," Alfred replied timidly, wishing he hadn't had the luck of having been assigned to the same patient as Arthur, especially since they hadn't formally introduced themselves yet. Suddenly, he remembered that he was still holding the pulse oximeter and swiftly tried to clip it onto the patient's index finger to assess her heart rate.

Withdrawing his stethoscope, Arthur cocked an eyebrow at his nephew. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Reaching for the woman's hand, Alfred only comprehended Arthur's warning after he felt a set of sharp teeth did into the flesh of his wrist.

"AGH! What was that for?" he demanded, stamping his opposite hand onto the laceration.

"I tried to warn you," Arthur offered, almost smugly. "Mrs. Davis has an issue with her arms being touched, and can often times be slightly aggressive when confused. Weren't you informed that she suffers from Alzheimer's?"

Feeling guilty and ashamed upon being reprimanded on his first day, Alfred tried to make amends. "I must've missed that."

Tsking, Arthur swept over to him, examining the injured wrist, which, despite being clad in a glove, had not been protected from the bite. "You're bleeding. Have you had a tetanus booster dose in the past two years?"

Still alarmed and, quite frankly, overwhelmed, Alfred felt his muscles tense. "No, but—"

"That's going to be a problem for you. Clean it out and get Mrs. Davis started on the Atenolol."

And with that, Arthur had disappeared, leaving Alfred flustered and perplexed. So much for having a successful first encounter with his uncle.

Doing as he was told before he could get himself into another mess, Alfred made quick work of administering the medication, minding the patient's every movement this time around. Once that had been settled and the woman had remained stable as well as comfortable, he left the room, making his way toward the nearest sink. Rinsing his wrist thoroughly, he wrapped it in some gauze, deciding that he'd put some antibiotic cream on it later as a precaution.

By the time Arthur had returned from his escapade, Alfred made adamant attempts at ignoring the doctor, charting information into a lone computer at the nurses' station. Nevertheless, the man actually seemed to be _amused _by Alfred's obstinate behavior, biting down a dry smirk.

"Do tell me if you start foaming at the mouth," he quipped, leaning on the desk lazily.

Digging his nails into the palms of his hands, Alfred refused to give the man the satisfaction of looking him in the eye. "Ha, ha! You're just _hilarious_, aren't you?"

"Oh, hush. It's your first day, and mistakes befall the best of us."

"Yeah, so I'd appreciate it if you'd stop rubbing it in."

Smiling slyly, Arthur rolled his eyes. "You remind me of your father," he said before rummaging around to remove something from his white coat. "I come in peace."

Finally lifting his head up to acknowledge the man, Alfred sighed. Dangling from the doctor's left hand was a syringe in its sterile packaging while his right held up a vial of some sort of solution.

"As it is your first day, you've been graced with a complimentary Tetanus shot—free of charge. Isn't that lovely?" Arthur teased, looking quite pleased with himself. "Arm or buttock?"

Cheeks alight like a Christmas tree, Alfred covered his face with his hands. "Thank you, but I'd rather just do it myself."

"I'd love to see you manage such a feat. I can only imagine what admirable coordination you must have."

Maybe this uncle of his wasn't as generous and kind as he'd originally pictured him to be. "Bastard," he mumbled faintly, causing Arthur to outright chuckle.

"If you prefer preserving your masculinity over protecting yourself from the future threat of lockjaw—"

Glancing around at the other nurses just a few feet away, Alfred gritted his teeth and lowered his voice. "Fine, but keep it down. The whole world doesn't have to know that I was bitten by a senior citizen."

Reluctantly, he rose from his seat, following Arthur to an empty room on the floor, whereupon he took a seat on one of the plastic chairs near the bedside. Then, he rolled up the sleeve of his scrubs and passed Arthur a small packet of alcohol pads.

"You know," the antagonizing doctor began, "I wasn't being witty when I presented you with your options. Assessing patients will be quite a challenge with a smarting arm. Tetanus vaccines are known for causing aching at the site of the injection."

"I know where this conversation is headed, and I'm not listening to the rest of your lecture. This day is slowly turning into a nightmare and I would like to cherish what little dignity I have left, if you don't mind," Alfred retorted, attempting to take the packaged syringe from Arthur. "I can handle this on my own."

Arthur tutted. "Lad, you're going to quickly learn that if you'd like to maintain your so called 'dignity' while working in the medical field, you won't be able to cling to it for very long, no matter what you do. It's a humbling job. Now stop being a child. It'll go just below your hip, and you'll be spared some unnecessary pain."

Why did he have to be so unfortunate on _this _day instead of all the other days in his life?

And why did Arthur, of all people, have to be a witness?

Standing up, Alfred angrily pulled down one side of his scrubs about two inches, snatching the alcohol pad back from Arthur and disinfecting the skin on his own. As the man had promised, the vaccine went just under his right hip, pinching the delicate flesh and surprising him despite the forewarning. After that, he straightened himself and made sure he was presentable, glaring at Arthur in a clearly distraught manner.

"What a wonderful way to bond after not seeing you for over twenty years, I'd say."

"I had a feeling you wouldn't just let it go without a snarky comment!" Alfred backfired, storming out of the room and leaving Arthur to laugh in his quiet and somewhat wry fashion.

It had undoubtedly been a memorable way to start off his career.

"I suppose I'll leave writing up the incident report to you then?" Arthur managed through a final mischievous grin.

"Stay away from me!"


	3. Chapter 3

It was unbelievable, Alfred thought, just how many people could be treated in an Emergency Room throughout the course of a single day. Had he not been graced with the chance to experience it himself, he never would've imagined such a heroic feat to be possible.

His first day had been walk in the park compared to the sheer amount of time he spent on his feet during the following week, sweeping to and fro with hardly any time to take a breather. And, much to his chagrin, most of the individuals being treated were there for superficial injuries—conditions that could've easily been treated in a doctor's office rather than an already overpopulated ER.

But with many people being uninsured, the ER seemed like a wise option, considering that they could not be denied treatment. Everyone that walked through those doors had to be seen by a doctor, no matter the illness. It was a broken system, but he sympathized with it.

However, that didn't mean that he had to be happy about it. In fact, if he could just be spared one blessed lunch break, he might feel a little more encouraged to work at his top-game. He tried to keep up a cheerful front at all costs, understanding that almost everyone waiting in the ER was frustrated or emotionally upset in some way, meaning that he would have to be the one to bolster the spirits of patients wallowing in gloom.

But some individuals really managed to test his patience.

"Excuse me," one woman had stopped him as he had been passing by one of the many curtain-separated rooms. "My son has been waiting to see a doctor for over thirty minutes. How much longer are we supposed to wait to speak with someone?"

Being calm and empathetic at any given moment was practically part of his job description, so he managed an apologetic smile, hoping to avoid a scene. "I'm sorry, but, as you can see, we're extremely busy today. The wait shouldn't be much longer," he assured, meandering past the irate mother and over to the young boy in the bed. He looked to be about six, one leg propped up on a stack of pillows.

Children could do wonders for de-escalating potential arguments, so Alfred ventured forward, always feeling more at home with the youngsters than the adults. "Hey, kiddo. What's buggin' ya?"

The boy frowned, eyes glistening with tears. "I fell at soccer practice and my leg hurts!"

"Hmm, you don't say? Well, it's a good thing I'm a leg expert," Alfred grinned, carefully exposing the injury by rolling up the boy's jeans and laying a gloved hand on the affected area. It was swollen and warm to the touch. "Looks like you're going to need an x-ray, but the doctor will have to order that. I'll bring you some ice while you wait for him, sound good?"

The boy nodded with a sniffle. "Okay."

"Awesome-sauce," Alfred commented pleasantly, giving the child a playful wink before retreating. "I'll make sure someone checks in on you guys as soon as possible."

But suddenly, as he passed the boy's mother, a gurney was rolled in with a man sitting on it, struggling to catch his breath as his friend worriedly hovered around him. The paramedic that had ushered the pair in and left as a doctor was summoned to take his place.

Unsurprisingly, Arthur was immediately upon the site. The man tended to float to different units and floors whenever he was needed, but the ER seemed to be where he spent most of his time. Spotting Alfred, he sighed, "Care to give me a hand?"

"No problem," Alfred insisted, even though he could sense that his beloved lunch break was fading away with each passing second. He made a move to join the physician, ceasing in his tracks when he heard a furious outcry from behind him.

"Why does he get to see a doctor so quickly?" the mother of the boy with the ailing leg asked.

Why did everyone have to make his job more difficult than it already was? "Ma'am, patients with high priority medical emergencies are seen before everyone else."

"So, my child's injury isn't a priority?"

Alfred pursed his lips as he caught Arthur smirking at the exchange from the corner of his eye. "An injured leg is not as urgent as respiratory or cardiac distress. Please return to the room or I'll have to contact security."

The woman huffed, having no choice but to back down as Alfred helped Arthur transport the new patient into an empty room. Slowly, he helped the man stand from the gurney and move to the available bed.

"What happened?" he queried, turning to the person whom he now suspected to be the man's girlfriend.

Flustered and shaken, she tried to explain. "He's getting over a cold, but he has asthma, so it's been acting up for the past few days. You see, I told him to refrain from taking any prescription drugs because they can be harmful to his body, so I've been helping him with deep breathing exercises and natural remedies—"

Interrupting because he couldn't bear to listen to the babbling any longer, Arthur's eyes became stern. "He's _asthmatic_," he punctuated while listening to the man's lungs. "He can't rely on breathing exercises to cure him when he's having an episode, especially when he's ill. Having a chronic condition such as his means that he must be on daily maintenance medication."

Sucking in a breath, Alfred kept silent, deciding that one person was enough to lecture the couple. Instead, he went about checking vital signs.

Turning to the ailing man, Arthur regarded him seriously. "Have you tried taking your inhaler?"

Through a breathy wheeze, the man nodded, wincing as he could feel the mucus build-up in his chest. "It didn't help."

"All right, well, your oxygen saturation is a little low, but it's nothing too serious," Arthur noted, taking a glance at the readings of the pulse oximeter that Alfred had set up. "We'll set you up on some oxygen and bronchodilators, and see if anything improves."

After taking a history and making sure they hadn't neglected to take any factors into account for the treatment process, Alfred made sure that the medication was administered, charting the information once everything else had been taken care of.

Then, he thought he might be cut some slack, but no, the frenetic mother had returned.

Iryna, whom he'd begun to form a blooming friendship with, was the one who had burst his bubble. "The woman with the child at the end of the hall is asking for you."

Groaning, he searched for a solution. Fortunately, he found Arthur talking to one of the LPNs at the head of the nurses' station, so he jumped at the opportunity.

"Hey, Artie—"

"What an atrocious nickname," the other retorted, dispensing some hand sanitizer into his palms.

"I can't get this angry soccer mom off my back," Alfred continued, trying not to look too desperate. "She's been waiting to see a doctor forever, so if you could just pay her a visit and tell her that her son isn't dying, that'd be great."

Chuckling lightheartedly, Arthur considered the request. "She's undoubtedly waiting for Vargas—that man likes to take his time. I'm afraid there isn't much that I can do for the child until he arrives."

"It doesn't matter, just check up on the kid and maybe she'll stop attacking me for the next hour."

"Fine, but only because you aided me previously," Arthur agreed reluctantly, watching as Alfred procured some ice before they headed for the forsaken room.

Upon reaching the displeased parent, Alfred was relieved to see that she withheld the urge to argue with him, considering that he had finally brought the doctor that he had promised to procure. Thus, he busied himself with the child.

"Hey, pal. How are you holding up?" he greeted, setting the icepack on the inflamed skin. "I brought another leg expert."

Rolling his eyes, Arthur put on a fresh pair of gloves and stood at the end of the bed, running his fingers along the length of the bone. When he touched a tender spot, the boy screeched, leaving everyone's ears ringing.

"That hurt!" he accused, glaring daggers at Arthur. "You're not a very good expert!"

Alfred snorted at that, pushing down the smile on his face. "Aww, the doctor didn't mean to make it hurt, little dude. Right, Dr. Kirkland?"

Sending Alfred a cautionary glance, Arthur sighed. "Right. Now, tell me if this hurts," he instructed, bending the leg and stretching it out again.

"No," the boy murmured in a relieved tone as his leg was returned to the stack of pillows.

Addressing the boy's mother, Arthur made his diagnosis fairly rapidly. "It's highly likely that it's just a muscle contusion—essentially a bruise—but the pediatrician will probably want to take an x-ray just to be safe. Rest, ice, and elevation will cause it to heal on its own."

The fretful mother finally seemed to simmer down. "Thank you, doctor."

"Certainly."

And, at long last, Alfred was rewarded a minute of peace. He shut his eyes at the revelation, nearly choosing to fall asleep while standing up, but Arthur guided him back to the nurses' station in one piece.

"You missed lunch, didn't you?" the older man hypothesized upon hearing his nephew's stomach grumble.

"Yup. Hell, it's almost time for dinner now."

Glowering, Arthur straightened out his white coat. "Idiot, you shouldn't be working with an empty stomach. Aren't you aware of the valuable skill that all medical personnel have mastered? It's called snacking."

"I'm trying to watch my figure," Alfred joked, flaunting a bicep. "I'll get something from the vending machine or cafeteria in a little bit. Maybe someone will spare a few leftovers for me," he said with a feigned tone of pity.

At least he could sit for a few minutes.

"Has anyone seen Dr. Vargas?"

He spoke to soon.

Suppressing a whine, he rolled his head toward the sound of the inquiry. "What's wrong now?"

Dr. Kiku Honda, the cardiologist on the floor, approached Alfred and Arthur with his complaint, looking quite weary. "There is a crying child disturbing the other patients and no one has seen to her yet."

"Not again," Alfred muttered, standing up to see what all the trouble was about. "Gee, with the pediatrician missing we could sure use a general practitioner right now. Hmm, I wonder where we might find one," he said with dripping sarcasm before turning expectantly toward Arthur.

"Oh, shut up. I'll see to it, but I'll have you know that I haven't had lunch either," Arthur groused, tiredly making his way toward the trouble. "Children despise me."

Alfred gave a short laugh, patting Arthur on the shoulder reassuringly. "Hey, don't even worry about it, I'll help you out. I love kids."

"Probably because you still are one."

"Hey! I'm twenty-eight—that's an old fart!"

Arthur scoffed, easily locating the distressed child that Kiku had mentioned, seeing as said child was still wailing at the top of their lungs. "Oh, yes, pardon me. You're ancient."

Pulling aside the curtain blocking the girl from view, Arthur led the way, introducing himself briefly to the parents. "Good afternoon, my name is Dr. Arthur Kirkland. Our pediatrician is currently occupied, but I'll do what I can until he gets here," he informed rather loudly, trying to speak over the shrieks.

The girl's father shook his hand and nodded at Alfred in acknowledgment, morose as the mother tried to shush the sobbing four-year-old.

Turning to Alfred, Arthur grumbled under his breath, "Remind me to kill Vargas in my spare time."

Giving the physician a thumbs-up in confirmation, Alfred dared to approach the child first, pulling on a pair of gloves before petting her arm gently. "There's no need to cry, sweetheart. We're gonna make you all better, okay?"

"No!"

Well, that approach had worked swimmingly.

"We think it's an ear infection. She's been pulling on it for days and has a fever," the mother sighed, taking a step back to give Alfred and Arthur some space.

Alfred frowned, retrieving a disposable thermometer. "Darling, we're just gonna take your temperature. I'm sure your mommy has done it before, huh? There's no need for crying—it won't hurt at all."

She settled down slightly, but Alfred concluded that it was most likely because she was too exhausted to carry on. Nonetheless, he didn't hesitate in waiting any longer to make his move. Coaxing the thermometer under the girl's tongue, he gave it a minute to register a reading, removing it before the child could become restless again. "101.2. All right, babe, we're gonna fix this. I'm Nurse Alfred, and this is my buddy, Dr. Kirkland. He may look scary, but I promise he doesn't bite."

Getting a giggle out of the girl at Arthur's expense was all too easy. "But you're a boy! Boys can't be nurses!"

"Oh, yeah? Who says?" Alfred challenged, pouting in Arthur's direction. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see the child's parents smiling softly. "Sheesh, even the kids are judging my career choices."

Already removing the otoscope from his white coat, Arthur positioned himself by the opposite side of the bed, trying not to appear too intimidating. "Alfred's being ridiculous. Now, I'm going to have to ask you to stay still while I take a look at your ear, poppet," he ordered, gently brushing the hair away from the girl's ear while Alfred kept her busy. Inserting the otoscope, he winced at the sight before taking a look at the healthy ear as well.

"It's like a flashlight for your insides, isn't that cool?" Alfred soothed as he noted the exasperated look on Arthur's features. He anticipated an oncoming migraine.

Taking a second to sigh, the physician then announced his findings. "It appears your daughter has some sort of foreign object in her auditory canal, and it's caused quite the infection. Fortunately, it won't require surgery to remove—I can extract it with the proper tools, and it should be relatively painless. Alfred, I'm going to need alligator forceps and an otoscope with a removable lens, if you wouldn't mind getting those for me."

"Gotcha," Alfred affirmed, disappearing before returning with the sterilized objects. He deposited them beside Arthur, resuming his role in keeping the child calm. "It's gonna be weird to have someone pokin' around in your ear, but you'll hardly feel a thing."

"Hold her still."

Nodding, Alfred entertained the little girl, joking about how Arthur would be 'digging for treasure' in her ear as the man inserted the forceps and removed what appeared to be a little plastic bead from a toy. After making sure there were no abrasions or leftover plastic pieces from the extraction, Arthur cleaned up and prescribed some eardrops for the child to take for the next week.

"All done," Alfred told the girl, patting her on the shoulder before standing up to leave. "You did a great job!"

Relieved, the girl's father cocked an eyebrow at her. "What do you say to the nice doctor and nurse?"

"Thank you!"

Both offering the child a smile, Alfred and Arthur said their goodbyes and went about their way, sharing a chuckle as they ambled down the hallway.

"That was an adventure," Alfred said, collapsing into the nearest chair. "How many hours until the night shift rolls around?"

Laughing, Arthur squeezed Alfred's shoulder supportively. "Another four hours, lad."

"Kill me now."

So, Alfred endured the bustle of the day, and when he had finally gotten his hands on a short break an hour later, he was pleasantly surprised to find that someone had left him a box of take-out from the café across the street. A sticky note had been left on the front of the packaging, and he smiled upon reading it.

"_Gorge yourself well." –Arthur_

* * *

Helicopters were whipping the skies above him, and he reached out a hand to grab for something that wasn't there. He was so close—just a few more steps—

"Alfred!"

Waking up in a cold sweat, he shakily ran a hand through his hair, eyes bulging. "W-What's wrong?"

Zoey whizzed into his field of vision, forehead creased. "I can't sleep."

It was late, that much he could tell, judging by the darkness outside the window. After a long day at work, the last thing he wanted was a wake-up call at such an ungodly hour, but something was clearly wrong and he was the only one around to help. After glancing at the clock, he let out a helpless moan. "Why can't you sleep, Zoey-bee?"

"Don't you hear it? The neighbors have their music on again. It's so loud!"

Taking a sluggish moment to register the complaint, Alfred finally noticed the vibrations coming from the opposite side of the wall, and it was clear that if he had not been so utterly exhausted, the sound would've most assuredly woken him up as well.

"Okay, I'll talk to them," he bargained, discontentedly rolling out of bed and putting on a pair of slippers. He wrapped a robe around himself to look somewhat presentable before trudging out into the corridor. "Stay inside, Zo."

Poised by the front door and lingering there, she watched as Alfred knocked on the door adjacent to theirs, his rage subdued by fatigue. He was left without a response for a full minute before someone came to greet him. The man was large and hulking in stature, eyes fierce as he regarded the unwelcome visitor.

"Excuse me, but it's two o'clock in the morning. Would it kill you to turn down that goddamned music?"

Zoey frowned from her position at the door, shutting her eyes in fear. She couldn't hear the entirety of the conversation, but things had turned ugly rather quickly. There was a moment of silence between the two men, leaving nothing but the booming music audible in the distance. Then, angry shouts filled the hallway within seconds, and something was knocked to the ground violently, making the walls shiver with more noise.

"Alfred?" she called to the man, petrified by horror. She bit her lip as she considered a course of action, heart pounding against her ribcage while she listened carefully for any sounds of movement.

Abruptly, the neighbor's door was slammed shut with a whopping force, causing the wooden floorboards of the apartment to shake as Alfred returned, one hand compressed against his eye. "Go back to bed, Zoey," he ordered before locking the front door shut. Then, he picked up the phone on the coffee-table, hurriedly dialing a number.

"You're hurt," she said, and it wasn't a question.

Growling under his breath and muttering words that Zoey was never allowed to use, Alfred gave the girl another pointed look. "Zoey, please. Everything is under control. Go to bed, and don't make me say it again!"

Still frightened and shaken up, she sprinted into the bedroom, hiding under the blankets of her bed as the music continued to thrum against her eardrums. She tried her best to drown out the sound, breath hitching as tears pooled in her eyes. She hated it whenever Alfred was cross with her.

She did not want to live like this.

Hoping that she might eventually cry herself to sleep, she laid her head on her pillow, unsurprised to hear the siren of a police car approaching. The sound raced through her ears and around her mind at a dizzying rate, leaving her even more upset than she'd already been.

There was a knock on _their_ door this time, and Alfred swiftly let the officers in, explaining the situation briefly before they departed to interrogate the neighbors.

After a full ten minutes, the music was turned off.

Alfred stumbled into the bedroom shortly afterward, a bag of frozen vegetables resting on his left eye. He assumed that Zoey had already fallen asleep, considering her rhythmic breathing and immobile state. Therefore, it didn't take too long for him to lose his resolve and give off a tiny cry of pain, brooding over his swelling eye. He rolled over on his side and tried to doze off, grunting and mumbling something indistinguishable.

Zoey, still fully awake, managed to catch a few words.

"Boozer… Should've called the police right away…"

And like they did with most of the turmoil in their lives, they pretended that nothing had occurred in the first place, blindly praying that the dawn might shed some light on their misfortunes.

* * *

"Bloody hell, Alfred. Someone had a bit too much to drink last night."

"Yeah, you know me, always getting into bar fights," Alfred joked expressionlessly the following morning at work, chugging his steaming cup of coffee. "How else am I going to validate my masculinity?"

Just a few more paychecks and he'd be able to do something about his crummy living situation, but for now, he would just have to tough it out.

Scrutinizing the black eye from behind the counter of the nurses' station, Arthur didn't seem too convinced that his nephew was being completely honest with him. Nonetheless, he supposed that it wasn't his right to get entangled in the younger man's personal affairs, especially not while at work.

"Well, try not to terrify any of the patients with your new makeover."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," he replied through clenched teeth. Arthur had picked the wrong day to mess with his nerves.

And _wow-wee_ did his eye hurt, despite periodic applications of ice and swallowing down ibuprofen tablets as though they were candy. His neighbor could really pack a punch, but he hadn't had enough sense at two in the morning to avoid a confrontation.

Giving him an owlish look, Arthur clicked his tongue. "Alfred, my offer still stands… If you ever need anything—"

Unfortunately, Elizabeta's impeccable timing ended their chat prematurely.

"You're here again, Kirkland? Stop harassing the nurses and find something else to keep you busy," she teased, already having discovered that the two men could usually be found gossiping together. "Alfred is the charge nurse today and is too busy making assignments for you to be distracting him."

Using the bait to his advantage, Alfred grinned cheekily. "Yeah, Arthur, stop harassing me or I'll have to file a report."

The doctor merely scoffed, checking his watch. "You're both intolerable," he deducted, impassively sauntering away to do his rounds.

"What happened to your eye?" Elizabeta inquired with a low gasp, softly taking hold of Alfred's chin and turning his head to get a better look at the awful splotch of purplish-brown skin that had left his striking blue eye at half-mast.

Smirking but thinking against it upon irritating his bruise, he sighed. "Let's just say that Arthur got a little _too _annoyed with me."

"Really?"

"No," Alfred admitted with a chuckle, causing Elizabeta to send him a flat glare. "I'd rather not talk about it though. It's a silly story, really."

Accepting his answer as genuine, Elizabeta decided to put the matter to rest, already making her way back to her office. "All right, then. Don't forget to drop by if the PCTs start complaining about their assignments again."

"Yup, I've got it covered."

He went back to arranging the necessary paperwork for the day, stopping only upon hearing yet another round of commotion come barreling down the hall and in his direction.

"Vargas, if you don't belt up and start doing your job—!"

"I've been with patients all day!"

Lowering his voice in order to keep an air of professionalism, and to avoid disturbing the patients, Arthur was hot on the pediatrician's tail, barely containing his fury. "It isn't my job to deal with your patients because you're loafing about! It shouldn't take you an entire hour to take a single history!"

"Now, now, boys," Alfred chided with a furrow, cleaning up his work area. "Don't make me call the Chief Physician on you both. I'm sure Beilschmidt doesn't want to be bothered this early in the day."

"Go on, call Ludwig. Let him see what a jungle this man has turned the ER into," Arthur hissed, mutinous.

He wasn't sure how many more emotional rollercoasters he could endure, so Alfred simply tried to discuss things rationally. "I'm sure Dr. Vargas will take your complaints seriously into account."

"Not bloody likely. I have to return to my patients. Heed my warning!"

And thus, Arthur stormed off once more, venting his frustrations elsewhere as Alfred made a motion to check on his own patients as well.

Meanwhile, Feliciano Vargas watched Arthur's form disappear from view as he rounded the corner. "Why doesn't he like me?"

"He's jealous of your bedside manner," Alfred suggested. Truth be told, he didn't blame Arthur for blowing up in the man's face. Personally, he was sick of parents complaining to him that they hadn't been seen by a doctor, and Arthur had plenty of his own patients to tend to without the extra work being dropped onto his lap. Nonetheless, he knew that the pediatrician was well-intentioned. The man liked to converse with his patients and devoted a lot of time to each individual person, which was, unfortunately, detrimental in the fast-paced cycle of the ER.

Knowing that he had enough problems on his plate, Alfred tried not to pay the issue too much mind. He could always report the problem to one of his superiors if it got too out of hand.

No, right now he had to focus on his own life—his highest priority being to get out of that horrible apartment of his.

And if he wanted to accomplish that, he'd best get back to work.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **And so, we begin to delve deeper. Enjoy the chapter and please leave a review to let me know if you'd like to read more. :)

* * *

"Zo, are you almost ready to leave?" Alfred had asked the following Monday, sipping his morning blend of hazelnut coffee as he made a move to turn off the television. "You don't want to make us both late."

"One more minute! I forgot to bring an extra pencil for my spelling test!"

Rolling his eyes in a manner that was more amused than irritated, Alfred vaguely noted what the reporter on the local news was saying, investing his full attention in the story and stopping himself from hitting the power button as the words 'BREAKING NEWS' scrolled across the bottom of the screen. Furrowing, he turned up the volume, worry beginning to sink into his bones upon further investigation of the problem.

The slender woman at the broadcast station had a solemn look on her face, hands folded on her desk as an image of some sort of ghastly microscopic organism was superimposed beside her.

"It seems that a new strain of influenza known as the swine flu has become a growing concern across the United States. Researchers say that the outbreak first began in Mexico as late as two months ago, and now has the potential of becoming an international pandemic. The Mexican government has been attempting to contain the virus, but many Americans have already felt the effects of the disease. As many as five schools within the city have already been closed due to the outbreak, a majority of them being high schools. The Department of Health recommends frequently washing one's hands and avoiding contact with ill individuals for preventative measures, seeing as the virus is airborne and can be transmitted through droplets. Symptoms of the disease include: high fever, coughing, muscle aches, fatigue, sore throat, and a runny nose."

Frowning, Alfred finally turned off the television. He tried to convince himself that it was nothing to be worried about. After all, stories regarding epidemics were usually overhyped to remind the public to be wary, so there was no need to blow things out of proportion just yet. He'd heard a similar story a few weeks ago, but it had been downplayed at the time.

"Okay, I'm ready!"

And suddenly, Alfred registered the severity of the predicament upon them. With so many individuals in New York falling ill, he was sure to come into contact with the disease eventually, whether through the hospital or by other means, and if he happened to bring that disease home with him…

"Honey, stay away from anybody who looks sick in school, okay?"

Picking up on his tone, Zoey immediately interrogated him. "Is something wrong?"

He had no reason to lie, and perhaps the child would be more cautious if he told her the truth. "There's a strain of the flu going around, and no one is sure how dangerous it is yet."

"But it's April," she informed, as though he were the oblivious one. "I thought people only got the flu in the winter."

"You can get the flu at any time during the year." He let out a sigh and placed a warm hand on the girl's head. "Just be careful. Now, let's get going."

Frankly, he thought that would be the end of the hysteria for a while, but little did he know that the swine flu would soon be all anybody talked about, especially at the hospital. During his shift, there had been three teenagers brought into the ER with suspected swine flu symptoms, each of them running an impressive fever that was borderline fatal. All they could do was provide symptomatic relief, and some responded better to the fever reducers than others. Thankfully, Dr. Vargas had substantially quickened his pace, and while he was undoubtedly doing his best, the teens were not making any progress, meaning that he was constantly forced to repeat his rounds to little avail.

Not as apathetic as his façade made him appear, Arthur had pitched in rather early on, often asking Alfred if he could come and take the patients' vitals whenever the other nurses had their hands full.

One of the patients was young girl no older than fifteen, sweating profusely into the bed sheets and vomiting every thirty minutes. Pale and exhausted, she had barely said a word as Alfred took her temperature and blood pressure.

Merely having to be a witness to the sight was torturous. Young and in a generally healthy condition normally, this flu had debilitated the girl mercilessly.

"We're going to have to admit her to the ICU. Her fever needs to be well-monitored," Arthur had announced, forgoing the medical mask that Alfred had offered him. "IV fluids and acetaminophen can only go so far."

So they had done just that, confident that constant monitoring would better benefit the girl than staying in the unpredictable pace of the ER. On occasion, they got through patients swiftly, but not all days could be as hasty, depending on how well-staffed they were.

The majority of Alfred's work week had passed in a similar fashion. He was wholly weary of simply hearing the words 'swine flu', so much so that he debated calling in sick to work in order to be granted some reprieve from the never-ending disarray. Nonetheless, he soldiered on as the number of confirmed cases skyrocketed, bringing in patients of all ages into their ER.

And then, the inevitable had happened. He had been finishing his shift for the day, when he had felt _it_. Like a warm blanket suffocating him, he felt the beginnings of a fever begin to fester in his body, leaving him clammy and uncharacteristically grumpy. He was finishing up administering medications and had been making his way for the nurses' lounge, realizing rather belatedly that he had quite literally stumbled into Arthur upon turning the corner.

"Easy there, lad," the physician had muttered, righting himself. "Are you all right?"

"Just dandy," he had retorted in response, storming away to avoid a potential lecture. "It's been a long week."

And Arthur—blast him—immediately trailed after him, curiosity as piqued as always. The man was so in-tune with his surroundings that it was infuriating, and hardly anything could slip past his senses whenever something was amiss. "Yes, but it's Thursday, and you won't be back until Monday, I presume. Not all of us have that luxury."

Punching in the combination of numbers needed to unlock the door to the nurses' lounge, Alfred managed a dull shrug of the shoulders. "What's that supposed to mean? You're not here every day either. Don't you have a private practice somewhere?"

"Yes, I do," Arthur responded almost mechanically. He had clearly lost interest in the conversation and was more engrossed in studying Alfred's movements. "Are you sure you're feeling all right?"

Growling under his breath, Alfred finally pushed open the door to his sanctuary. "Listen, Arthur. I'm really damned tired, so if you could go chat with someone else, that'd be great. See ya next week."

And then, he slammed the door to a close, relishing in the peace and quiet of the lounge, seeing as he was the only one inside. He grabbed his messenger bag off of a shelf, rubbing furiously at his forehead as he felt a migraine begin to manifest itself and pound against his skull, leaving him dizzy with pain.

The first stage was always denial. On the entire train ride home, he tried to persuade himself that all of his symptoms were psychosomatic—he just _believed _he was sick. If he could focus his energy away from his ailment, maybe he'd discover that he wasn't ill at all.

Nonetheless, by the time he had entered his apartment, he had given up on that idea, considering that he was feeling worse by the minute. His most important priority would be to keep himself away from Zoey. He'd quarantine himself in the living room and be just fine after a night of rest, surely.

"Alfred, you're home! I wrote about you today in school!"

The little girl dashed forward to embrace him in a hug, but he quickly sidestepped her ministrations, rueful as the child glowered.

Pleading his case, Alfred carefully set down his bag and swallowed the urge to cough. He pulled out a spare medical mask that he had stored in his pocket as a precaution, pulling it over his face. "That's great, sweetie, but I need you to stay away from me. Go into the bedroom and close the door. Don't come into the living room unless it's completely necessary, okay?"

"Are you sick?"

It was painful to admit to such weakness, so he did his best to parry the question. "Don't worry about me and just keep your distance. I don't know what I have yet, but it's better to be safe than sorry."

"But where are you going to sleep?"

"On the couch," he insisted, sitting down on said piece of furniture to pull off his shoes.

Zoey didn't seem to be too fond of the idea, but she didn't pester him further about it. Perhaps she took pity on him because he was ill, or she was worried about falling ill herself and didn't want to risk exposure. "Okay… How long do I have to stay away from you?"

Wiping droplets of sweat off of his forehead, he replied, "At least for the next three days."

"Three days!" Zoey exclaimed, looking horrified at the thought of being out of his sight for so long. "B-But can't you just come into the bedroom and I'll—?"

"No," Alfred interjected sternly, standing up to head for the bathroom. He pulled a bottle of rubbing alcohol out of one of the cabinets, briskly lathering the substance into his hands and over the length of his arms. "Do as I said, Zoey."

Shifting in the doorway for a moment, the blonde-haired child finally relented, disappearing into the bedroom and begrudgingly shutting the door.

Once that was out of the way, Alfred staggered over to the dryer in their miniscule kitchen area, picking out some clean clothes and throwing his scrubs into the washing machine for future sterilization. He also made another trip to the bathroom to retrieve a thermometer from the medicine cabinet before deciding it was safe to collapse on the couch to ride his fever out.

His nap didn't last long, however, because within the following hour, he woke up to a stuffy nose and parched mouth. He took his temperature for verification—102.4. It wasn't serious enough to render a hospital visit, so he paid it no mind, deciding that his body would rid itself of the virus more quickly if he chose not to take a fever reducer. Despite knowing that anything above a low grade temperature required treatment, he remained stubborn in the belief that his immune system would do the work for him.

But the following morning, it was blatantly apparent that he would _not _be able to toughen the illness out, as his fever had spiked even higher. His entire body felt bruised and beaten, stiff with aches as the needles in his throat dug deeper into his delicate larynx.

Zoey had then approached him, all dressed and ready for school as she gaped at her caretaker. "Alfred? Are you okay? D-Do I have to take the train alone today?"

Normally, he would drop the child off at school, and she would take the bus back home, but with his raging fever, he doubted he'd be able to get himself off of the couch, let alone out to the subway station.

"I really don't feel too good, kiddo."

The girl looked disappointed, fear etched into her eyes at the thought of having to travel to school without any supervision. "I'm sorry… I know you're sick, but… I'm scared!"

He coughed heartily into the medical mask, eyes glazed and slightly delirious. "Okay, darling. Give me ten minutes."

Dragging himself off of the couch was a challenge—he was surprised that he hadn't been plastered to the fabric with the sheer amount of sweat his body was producing. He tried to make himself look somewhat presentable and made sure that the medical mask was still securely adjusted so that it ended just below his chin, huffing and puffing from the exertion.

Zoey watched him the entire time from a safe distance, her eyes taking on a chiding look that a mother might've worn. "You should go to the doctor."

"I don't have to. I can take care of myself just fine."

"But when I'm sick—"

Alfred let out a little cry of pain at the pressure throbbing against his forehead. "This is different."

"Please? I don't want you to get worse. You don't have to be afraid. I can go with you, if you want! You always go with me to the doctor," Zoey offered, hoping she sounded persuasive enough to get him to reconsider.

Meanwhile, Alfred was too busy trying not to trip over his own feet. The world seemed to be tilted to one side, and he found his limbs to be unbelievably jelly-like as he traversed around the apartment. Without warning, his knees buckled beneath him and he met the rug with a loud groan, one arm tucked against his stomach.

"Alfred!" Zoey ran forward worryingly, unsure of what to do as the man shook off her gestures to help him up.

"Maybe a trip to the doctor wouldn't be unwarranted," he softly agreed, gradually lifting himself up on wobbly legs. He was fully insured by his job at the hospital now, so there was no reason for not being able to afford a visit. "Know any doctors in the area?"

Zoey scoffed, looking completely flabbergasted. "You're asking me? You're the nurse!"

Reaching the couch again, Alfred took a seat and pulled out his laptop from under the coffee table, searching for nearby physicians that might take pity on his ailing form. Unsurprisingly, one of the first people listed was one of the last people that he wanted to see at the moment.

Arthur would probably be smug. He'd laugh and take pleasure in his pain, but he knew the man would treat him. He wouldn't be disgusted by the virus or fear contamination. He'd probably even keep his illness a secret if he asked nicely.

"All right, here's the plan," he pronounced with a peevish sigh, stuffing a wad of tissues in his pocket for later use. "We'll call a cab and take you to school. Then, I'll go see a doctor. Deal?"

"Deal."

* * *

The office was cool and quiet, and though he had received a few inquiring looks from some of the patients in the waiting room, no one had made a display out of his terrible condition. He had walked straight up to the receptionist, hoping he wouldn't be required to stand too long lest his legs decided to give up on him again.

"Excuse me, sir. Do you have an appointment?"

Clearing his throat with a wince, he shook his head. He hadn't even thought to call beforehand, and he had been far too out of his mind to properly hold a conversation long enough to make an appointment.

"Well, I'll have to speak with Dr. Kirkland, in that case. It is likely that you'll have to wait until the other patients are seen first. Are you a new patient?"

Sniffling wetly, he pushed down the urge to lean against the counter for support. "Yes."

"Then, if you could kindly fill out these forms…"

He took the proffered clipboard and pen, situating himself in a chair that was isolated from the other patients before filling out the documents. Most of them were customary questions about his medical background and health insurance information. When he was done, he returned the forms and plopped back into his seat, head resting between his knees as he fought off another spell of dizziness.

The receptionist had walked off, most likely to contact Arthur. Sure enough, she returned a few minutes later with the man in tow. Instantly, the doctor's eyebrows ascended his forehead, clear shock evident in his expression. He stepped over to his seat and crouched slightly to be at a better eye level with him, gaze stern as he pried the hands away from his head.

"You're this 'new' patient?"

"I'm sorry," Alfred rushed to apologize, keeping his voice low, as speaking above anything other than a hushed tone would've caused him pain anyway. "I needed to consult someone and—"

Clicking his tongue and wearing a tight scowl, Arthur raised a hand to stop his rambling. "It's all right, you big dolt. Suspected swine flu?"

Giving a miserable nod, Alfred found at least some comfort in the other man's presence. At least, he was in good hands now, and it was nice to be able to trust someone with his declining health.

"We'll take a nasal swab to confirm," Arthur decided, standing up and motioning for Alfred to follow along.

With sluggish movements, Alfred managed to comply, stumbling into the exam room at the end of the hall. He hopped up on the clean examination table, leaning against the wall behind him with a tired groan of distress. Then, Arthur stamped a hand onto his forehead and hissed, rummaging around in a drawer for a thermometer with a disposable end. When he'd found one, he placed it under Alfred's tongue and took it back when it beeped.

"104.3," Arthur ground out, seemingly annoyed. "You need to go to the hospital."

Cringing at the mere mention of the word, Alfred held his hands up in defense. "I can't. I came here because the hospital isn't an option."

Sighing but letting the subject rest for now, Arthur left the exam room and returned with a packet containing a pill inside along with a little plastic cup of water. "Here, 600 milligrams of ibuprofen for the fever. I have to tend to my other patients, but it shouldn't take very long. Then, I'll examine you and take the nasal swab. You can lie down and try to rest until then."

"Gotcha… No problem," Alfred assured, already collapsing onto the cushioned table for the foreseeable future. He took the pill out of its packaging and chugged it down with the water, coughing slightly into his abused medical mask.

As an afterthought, Arthur tossed him a new mask and left the room once more, quietly shutting the door on his way out with a 'click'.

Thus, Alfred spent the following twenty-five minutes in complete solitude. He even dozed off for a little while, shivering with chills the entire time and not getting much rest despite his efforts. For a moment, he considered hospitalization, only to remember that there would need to be dinner on the table for Zoey, and he couldn't leave her unattended for so many hours.

It was difficult getting attached to someone, he realized. Even sitting in Arthur's office, he knew that he had grown too close for comfort with his uncle.

However, he hadn't been spared much time to mull this over because Arthur had soon returned, opening the door and closing it once more before heading over to the counter and scribbling something into Alfred's new medical file.

"How's the fever?" he asked thoughtfully, pulling out the thermometer again and taking another reading. "103.7. That's slightly less worrisome, but I suspect the ibuprofen is still going to take another thirty minutes to fully start working. Sit up and let me see what you've done to yourself this time."

The physician spoke as though he were a troublesome child, and it made Alfred chuckle lightly as he returned to a sitting position, feet dangling from the exam table. "I was trying to give my immune system some practice."

"I can imagine—another one of your silly schemes, undoubtedly," Arthur teased, easing some of the fear in Alfred's nerves. People had already _died_ from this sickness, and though he would never admit it, he was starting to have qualms that he wasn't too far from fatal complications either.

Never one to waste time, Arthur had already placed the diaphragm of a stethoscope on his chest, making sure that his lungs and heart weren't being attacked by the virus as well. "Deep breaths," he ordered, listening with a grimace as a crackling sound resonated from Alfred's lungs.

"Cough."

Fiddling with his medical mask, Alfred let out a tiny cough at first, not wanting to aggravate his body. Unfortunately, he soon discovered that it was no use, seeing as he had been sent into a hacking coughing fit that left a burning feeling in his chest. With a disgusted curl of his lips, he realized that he was spitting up phlegm and pulled a tissue out of his pocket to dispose of it.

"Congratulations," Arthur began with a drone as Alfred threw the sullied tissue into the trash, "your cough is productive. Don't keep the build-up in your lungs or you'll give yourself pneumonia on top of the flu."

"Great, that's just what I need. Hey, might as well get the whole package deal, right?"

Arthur rolled his eyes, not very amused by Alfred's self-deprecating jokes. He took the man's blood pressure, which was a little on the low side due to dehydration before ordering him to take off his mask.

"I'll take it off only if you put one on," Alfred bargained.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. I can't remember the last time I came down with the flu." Nonetheless, the physician complied, if only to appease Alfred. He made sure the younger man's ears were in good shape before retrieving a tongue depressor and patting his jaw. "Say 'ahh'. Dear God, your throat is absolutely revolting."

Letting loose a hoarse laugh around the tongue depressor, Alfred waited impatiently for the other to move on. Fortunately, he was done in a short moment before shining an otoscope into his nose.

"Ready for the nasal swab? It'll be the time of your life."

"No kidding? What is it that the nurses always say to the kids when they're taking swabs? Something like, 'we're gonna take out the monsters'?"

Arthur allowed himself a smirk, making a note in the medical file once more before pulling a long cotton swab out of a plastic jar on the counter. "Yes, Alfred, we'll be taking your monsters into custody now. Tilt your head back… A little more… That's the ticket."

Holding still to the best of his ability, Alfred waited as Arthur got a suitable collection of bacteria from the back of his nose, making a face due to the uncomfortable feeling.

"We'll know in a few minutes," Arthur informed as he removed the swab and tested it for various strains of influenza. As they waited for an accurate reading, Alfred's eyes were checked, leaving him slightly disoriented from the bright light.

"Any other complaints you'd like to voice?"

"My head," he moaned at once, pressing his hands firmly against his temples. "I wouldn't mind being decapitated right about now."

Gently, Arthur swatted Alfred's hands away and ran his fingers over the aching skull. "Where does it hurt?"

"All over."

"Let me rephrase my question—where does it hurt the most? Front, top, sides, or back?"

Taking a moment to think about his response, Alfred shoulders slumped with fatigue. "Front, I guess."

"In that case, you're going to live, so stop complaining," Arthur assured, retracting his fingers and checking the results of the swab. "Positive for Influenza Type A."

"So, I've got swine flu?"

"Most likely."

"Yay, it's my lucky day," Alfred muttered lifelessly, fluttering his eyes shut. "Man, I could go for a good snooze."

Forehead creased, Arthur wrote down a few more notes and turned back to his patient. "Then you'd best get home. You know the protocol—bed rest, fluids, a BRAT diet, and go to the hospital if your fever becomes high-grade again. Do you need a ride home?"

"Thanks, but I'll just call a cab again."

"Are you sure? I can postpone the rest of my appointments. I don't have many patients scheduled for today anyway."

The offer was enticing, but Alfred wasn't so sure it was the best of plans.

Arthur, however, seemed intent on coaxing him. "You may not realize it, but you look awful, and, out of good conscience, I can't leave you to take a taxi in such a horrendous condition."

A ride in Arthur's car would definitely be more comfortable, and less embarrassing if he happened to fall asleep during the trip. After nibbling on his lower lip for a long moment and considering the consequences of his actions, he decided to give into his body's wants. "That'd be really kind of you, but it's really not necessary. Plus, I'm probably contagious."

"Nonsense—don't you worry about that. You're as sick as a dog and if you refuse to go to the hospital, then the least you could do is accept a helpful gesture," Arthur reasoned, washing his hands and cleaning up before guiding the younger man out of the room. "Take a seat in the waiting room and I'll be ready to leave in a minute."

* * *

It was a greedy choice, but one that his body thanked him for. He had reclined himself in the passenger's seat of Arthur's car, half-asleep within minutes of the drive. He'd told the other that he lived Brooklyn—Borough Park, specifically—and then had allowed himself to rest, dropping his guard. Arthur had encouraged it, reprimanding him for not getting more rest as soon as he'd realized he had taken ill. Nevertheless, the rest of the ride was quiet, and while his fevered dreams kept him tossing and turning, he felt slightly better upon being later woken up by Arthur, who was requesting his detailed address.

"Just make a right over here," he instructed groggily, wishing he could pull himself together and regain some control over his body. "I live a few blocks down."

When they had reached the familiar street of his apartment complex, Alfred clambered out of the car and thanked Arthur lavishly, struggling to keep his balance as he walked away. To his surprise, Arthur had gotten out of the car as well, sweeping forward to steady his stance.

"I can't be sure that you won't keel over before you reach your apartment. Would you like some help?" he suggested, fairly concerned.

"I'm all right, thanks."

"Alfred, you're barely able to stand up, let alone—"

"I said it's all right, Arthur!" he snapped, frustrated with the entire situation. He'd have to get inside and prepare something for dinner. There were dishes to be done, clothes to be washed, and floors to be swept. He didn't have the time to dawdle and argue with Arthur.

Speaking of Arthur, he seemed a little startled by the outburst, and took a few steps back. "I'm trying to _help_ you."

He wasn't sure where all of his anger had spawned from, but he was sure that the majority of it could've been blamed on his fever and perpetual stress. "I don't need your help! Don't you understand? I haven't had help in twenty-eight damned years, and you think I want help now? Just do me a favor and leave me alone!"

It was a horrible thing to say, he knew, especially after all that Arthur had done for him in the past, but he just couldn't contain the fiery emotions bubbling in his stomach.

The physician stood in place for a moment, eerily calm and forgiving. The man seemed to have attained a patience for Alfred's unpredictable temper, not allowing himself to be pushed away for too long. "Right then. Take care of yourself, lad."

Sighing, Alfred sniffled to accommodate his runny nose as he glanced back at Arthur. "I'm sorry… I didn't mean it. I really appreciate your help. I don't deserve it, you know."

"You're my nephew, it's the least—"

"Don't give me that line again. All of this was a mistake, and I took advantage of how willing you were to help me."

"No, I offered—"

"I lied to you, Arthur. Don't you see? All of this is wrong," he croaked hoarsely, feeling a foreign feeling of wetness in his eyes. "I can't talk to you anymore. I'm sorry; you don't deserve to be treated this way."

Confusion quickly filling him, Arthur shot the man a perplexed look. "What do you mean?"

"I regret it all. I'm sure you'll find out soon enough, even if my father refuses to tell you."

"Tell me what?"

There was a look of hesitation on his face as he strained to reach the door to the lobby. A flicker of remorse in his blue irises. "Goodbye, Arthur. And don't worry about me—I'll manage."

"ALFRED!"

But it was no use, the man had already walked away, and he didn't dare to pull him back and demand answers from him in his weakened state.

"Fine, just collapse in the elevator for all I care!"

But in his heart, he knew that if anyone was a liar, it was most assuredly him.


	5. Chapter 5

It was positively maddening.

He had made it halfway to his home later that evening when a nagging voice crept upon him, urging him to turn around. A plague of questions circled his mind relentlessly, and he could do nothing to shake them off. What if Alfred was hurt? He clearly hadn't been taking care of himself, so he was fairly doubtful that the other was now taking his health more seriously.

When had he developed the mere ability to be sympathetic? He should've been notified of this major milestone.

He chose to get entangled in such a mess, and now he couldn't expect himself to merely forget about Alfred's existence. Working with the other had made him aware of the younger man's charisma—his willingness to help others at any cost, brightening the spirits of even the most callous individuals with his astonishingly good bedside manner. He respected Alfred, and wanted him to knock down the walls that the other had constructed for himself. He wasn't only a nephew, but also a friend, and it was near impossible for him to stow away the serious concern gnawing at his heart.

Not to mention that he could pick out the loneliness in Alfred's eyes from a mile away. Being a reclusive person himself, Arthur understood the other's need to be adamant about keeping to himself, but there were times when one had to accept the presence of others, regardless of pride.

So, he did what he had to do—he went back, scowling and swearing under the wisps of his breath the entire way. He had already played his part, meaning that he shouldn't have worried, but he didn't have much of a choice in the matter.

He returned to the rundown edifice, parking his car nearby before storming into the lobby, still seething with internal rage as he searched for a doorman, only to realize that there wasn't one. In fact, the entire lobby was devoid of life as he stood on the filthy checkered tiles of the building. Thus, he made his way for the nearest elevator, briefly debating whether to take the stairs instead, seeing as the creaking cart didn't appear to be the most stable work of machinery.

"Can I help you? You don't live here."

He spun around to locate the voice, quickly taking hold of the opportunity to investigate. "My apologies, but would you happen to know where Alfred Jones lives?"

The middle-aged woman gave him a long look, clearly skeptical. "Sixth floor, F7."

"Many thanks."

He reluctantly stepped into the deathtrap known as the elevator, noting that Alfred lived on the topmost floor as the cart was lurched upward unsteadily. He gripped the railing behind him tightly, staying completely still until he had been brought to a rumbling halt. Thankfully, the doors opened and he made his way for the correct apartment number, slightly nervous as he reached his destination.

There was foul smell in the air, and he felt the need to gag, covering his face behind an arm to block the scent. With his free hand, he knocked softly on the appropriate door, waiting quite a bit of time before he heard a shuffle of movement on the other side.

He tried his luck at reasoning with the man, unsure of whether or not he'd have a second chance to do so.

"Alfred? Please, open the door—don't be a child. I know you don't wish to talk, but you really shouldn't be left unmonitored in your condition."

He sincerely hoped Alfred's judgment would be rational enough to let him in, seeing as the smell in the hallway was growing with intensity, leaving his eyes watering.

Fortunately, there were two clicks of locks being opened before the door was finally swung outward.

"Alfred, I—"

He let the rest of his statement die on his lips, too dumbfounded at the sight of a pint-sized girl with blonde hair standing in front of him to formulate any comprehensible words.

"I must have the wrong apartment," he murmured after a moment. There was something familiar about this child, though he couldn't quite place his finger on what that something was. Perhaps, it was her eyes, electric blue and dazzling as they scrutinized his figure.

"You're looking for Alfred? You have the right place."

He cocked an eyebrow at the child, taken aback with confusion. "Are you his daughter?"

The girl giggled airily, concealing the inside of the apartment by leaving the door halfway closed. She seemed to find his question quite funny. "No, that'd be weird. I'm not allowed to talk to strangers or let anybody inside, so I'll tell Alfred you came by."

Arthur hastily stuck his foot in the doorway, unintentionally frightening the child. "Wait! I'm not a stranger. I'm Alfred's uncle, Arthur Kirkland."

The girl didn't seem to believe him, but she offered him the benefit of the doubt. "Alfred can't talk right now."

"I understand that. He's very ill, isn't he?"

"How did you know?"

"I also happen to be a doctor, and I've come to check up on him."

That seemed to do the trick, seeing as the girl immediately began expressing her own concerns. "I don't know how to help. He told me to stay in the bedroom and not come out because I'll get sick and—!"

"It's all right, where is he now?"

The girl swept aside, finally deciding to invite Arthur in. "He's been sleeping on the couch for hours. I tried to get him to wake up so that we could have dinner, but he wouldn't move!"

Troubled by the information, Arthur ventured into the apartment and followed the child into the living area where Alfred was sprawled, relatively immobile.

"Is he going to be okay?"

Arthur tutted and made his way over to the younger man, resting a hand on his forehead and recoiling at the intense heat. He spotted a thermometer on the coffee table and took hold of it before giving the nervous child a small frown. "I told him to go to the hospital," he muttered furiously, firmly jostling Alfred's shoulder. "Wake up, you numpty."

Alfred groaned loudly instead, letting his discomfort be known as he incoherently grumbled. As he roused himself from sleep, Arthur stuck the thermometer in his mouth, one hand on his chin as he considered his options.

"104.6," he determined, taking in the signs of delirium in Alfred's eyes. "You're an idiot."

"Ugh, Arthur?" the other had finally queried, jolting upward and flinging out an arm to retrieve his glasses off of the table. "What are you doing here?"

"Your secretary let me in," he joked as Alfred's eyes lazily wandered to the aforementioned child.

He struggled to find the strength to be angry, trying to form an intimidating glare as exhaustion seeped into every fiber of his body. "Zoey, what have I told you about answering the door?"

"I'm sorry!" The girl cowered guiltily, fleeing from the scene in fear of aggravating the man further.

Alfred only sighed, cradling his pulsating head as he finally located his glasses and pushed them up the bridge of his nose. "Damn it all."

"Have you taken any medication?" Arthur continued, ignoring the drama for the time being. His main goal would be to prevent a certain someone from suffering from permanent brain damage.

Alfred toiled over the question for a moment, groaning as another wave of pain coursed through his muscles. "No, not since you gave me the ibuprofen."

"It's worn off already. Why haven't you taken more?"

"I don't think I have anything other than children's Motrin for Zoey. Plus, I can't get off the couch to check," he admitted sheepishly, wiping sweat off of his neck while looking quite pathetic.

"Well then, we're going to the hospital."

At those words, Alfred protested feverishly once more, his headache reaching new heights that he'd previously thought to be impossible. "No! Someone has to watch the kid and I—God, I'm gonna be sick."

Desperately searching for a bucket, he was grateful that Arthur had retrieved a plastic bin from the other end of the room just in time. He lost what little fluids remained in his body, coughing up saliva as he dry heaved.

"You're going to kill yourself at this rate," Arthur chastised, disappearing momentarily to peruse the apartment for ways to lower the fever. He returned with a number of moist washcloths from the bathroom and the bottle of Motrin that Alfred had mentioned, depositing the items on the coffee table. Then, he took out a fresh bottle of water out of his own bag, ordering the other to take small sips. "In all my years as a medical doctor, I've never seen someone this reckless."

"I'm flattered, in that case."

"Of course you are." Pouring out the children's Motrin into the accompanying medicine cup, Arthur measured out the correct dosage. "Here, take the first fifteen milliliters, and then you'll get another fifteen. It should be enough to have an effect."

Propping himself up with his elbows, Alfred accepted the little cup, downing the contents quickly before scrunching up his nose in disdain. "That was definitely not grape flavored."

Taking back the cup to refill it once more, he gave Alfred the next dose, rolling his eyes as the man grimaced once more. "It was even more terrible the second time 'round."

And with that, Arthur placed one of the damp washcloths on Alfred's forehead, shaking his head at him in disbelief. "I'll repeat myself again because it doesn't seem to be getting through your thick skull—you need to go to the hospital. Resting in an _actual _bed might do you wonders as well. Let me help you to the bedroom for now."

"Zoey's in there. I can't risk her getting sick."

"Don't you have another room?"

"No, we share the room."

Pinching his nose, Arthur tapped his foot impatiently. "You're wasting away over here, and your brain is frying as we speak! How do you expect to recover at home in this kind of environment? This entire building is utterly disgusting and covered in grime!"

Wincing due to his headache, Alfred pressed the washcloth more firmly against his skin, sighing at the coolness. "I know that, but I can't change anything now."

"And would you care to explain to me why there is a child in your apartment in the first place? She claims that she isn't your daughter, so I can't imagine what she's doing here. Try as you might, you can't keep her stowed away in the bedroom to prevent spreading the illness to her. She can still get it from sharing food or touching objects that you've already contaminated, notably, the doorknobs," Arthur explained, yanking the facemask off of Alfred. "And you should only be wearing a mask in public, not in the privacy of your home."

Fumbling and twisting around to take back the mask, Alfred was quickly using up the energy reserves that he'd already depleted throughout the course of the day. "I'm going to get you sick."

"Rubbish. You'd best worry about yourself at the moment. Now, are you going to explain what's going on or not? What's this nonsense about you lying to me?"

Alfred tried his best to avoid an interrogation, eyes already drooping with exhaustion. He knew that sleeping would only lead to more nightmares—nightmares of gaping holes that screamed up at the sky. "It's a long story."

Scoffing, Arthur checked his watch absently. "I have nothing but time now that I'm here."

Sitting up unsteadily through a bout of chills, Alfred regarded his uncle with shaking shoulders, pure and unadulterated fear filling him up to the brim. He was silent for a full minute, searching for the proper string of words.

"I can't say it."

"Pretend you're talking to yourself. Almost like you're reading a story. Would that help?"

He let his eyes flutter to a close, noting the sudden sensation that he could only describe as his stomach trying to claw its way out of his throat. When he had swallowed the discomfort away, he mustered what little voice he had left. Green eyes watched him intently, determined to get an answer.

But not every answer was worth sharing.

His feverish ramblings kicked in, and soon, it felt as though he were speaking into a void, much like he had felt in the past when being confronted with such issues.

"When I wake up in the morning, I feel like I'm falling from miles above the Earth—and I know that there won't be water or a net at the bottom. The whole world seems to come along with me, everything crumbling as I reach the ground. We all dive together, complete strangers yet one and the same. Then, I snap out of it, but only for a few hours, because there's going to be something else throughout the day that will always remind me of what I saw and heard."

"I don't understand," Arthur murmured gently, prompting the other to clarify. He was quickly growing tired of these cryptic messages.

"It follows me everywhere… Do you know what that's like? I lost the most important thing in my life, and there isn't one day when I can just avoid it."

"Alfred…"

He smothered a cough into the crook of his arm, tears springing into his eyes from the arduous effort. Part of it was caused by the fever, but the other part was caused by a pain that was slightly more abstract, but still physical nonetheless.

"You're right, Zoey's not mine. She's Matthew's."

The sirens were screeching in his ears again—incessant tremors that resonated somewhere far in the back of his mind. "I thought I had my whole life going for me, and then, out of the blue, everything literally collapsed."

Arthur took a seat beside him on the couch, face full of an unreadable emotion that looked stuck between sorrow and intent. "And where is Matthew now?"

Alfred trembled visibly once more, and the tears were now falling freely from his eyes. "I withheld the truth from you, Arthur. You did everything you could for me and I still didn't have the courage to tell you the truth. You specifically mentioned Matthew too, and I never _told_ you."

His stomach did a somersault, and suddenly Arthur felt the need to be sick as well. He hoped this conversation might eventually take on a brighter tone than what he was expecting. "What happened?"

There wasn't a right of saying it, as Alfred came to discover, but an odd sort of relief came with the confession. He could see it—the smooth grief all laid out before his very eyes, and Arthur began to mirror it.

"He passed away. It's been eight years now, and it still feels like he's somewhere out there, hiding and waiting for the right moment to come back. He's out there, smiling, laughing, and waiting to greet his daughter for the first time."

"He never—" Arthur paused, letting the shock settle itself. "He never got the chance to see his own daughter?"

The shakes had given way to hushed sobs, and Alfred had buried his face in his hands to conceal himself from Arthur. His illness had crippled his mind enough, and little was needed to push him over the edge and into an emotional mess. "His wife was pregnant at time when it'd happened. Then, there were complications during the birth—severe hemorrhaging, but Zoey miraculously survived, healthy and unscathed though parentless."

"H-How did Matthew—?"

Alfred swiped at his eyes furiously and pointed to his messenger bag, which was hanging on a hook by the wall. "Can you bring me that?"

Within moments, Arthur had deposited the bag next to Alfred, watching cautiously as the other dug through a number of the zipped pockets. When he'd uncovered the artifact he'd been looking for, he passed it to Arthur, hands convulsing violently as he did so.

It was a badge—shiny and obviously well-maintained. Arthur read the words inscribed on it with care.

'_FIRE DEPARTMENT_

_MATTHEW KIRKLAND_

_N.Y' _

At the back of badge, there was a photo, clipped neatly and folded in half. Arthur removed it from its resting place, examining the people standing at what looked to be a memorial service. There was some text at the bottom written in cursive.

'_In loving memory of those we have lost._

_September 11, 2001. We will never forget.'_

For a good time, he was completely numb—paralyzed from head to toe.

And it was all _too much_. Alfred barely had to blink before his mind was reeling again, mutely processing the legacies of thousands as they came floating to the ground, relinquishing their brief and unfettered gifts of life in exchange for dust.

"Oh, Alfred. I'm so sorry. I had no idea—"

He'd heard those words so many times that they were meaningless now. Apologies would not bring his brother back nor replace the father that Zoey had never possessed. Their condolences fell on deaf ears because he was far too busy with hearing the screams around him—the hiccups of sorrow unlike any he had ever heard before as he walked past the countless posters of missing people taped to streetlamps. They were all ash, scattered in the storm of debris that had loomed over the city for months afterward.

Like a hurricane of living and breathing loss, a gray smog kept him shrouded in grief. The city that never slept had entered a muffled state of desolate catharsis—mourning as one body. Detached yet still united.

He made an effort to drive away the images, but to no avail. They had been burned into his pupils.

"Do you blame me?" The question seemed to roll subconsciously off of his lips, as if searching for reassurance and validation for his actions.

"Blame you? Whatever for? You've done nothing wrong."

He calmed his breathing, though his eyes were still flooded with anguish. He could see the towers crumbling like sandcastles—watched the helpless people jumping from windows in a final attempt to change their fate. At times, he wondered if Matthew had done the same, exhilarated by the final moments of gliding before knowing nothing else but blackness.

The hysteria. The inability to call for help. The nightmarish disbelief.

"No one told you, including me. Eight years and no one had the decency to even _call _you about it. You had a right to know, whether we were once close or not."

Arthur frowned deeply, hesitation lurking in his stiff movements. Soon after, there were arms wrapped around Alfred's torso, encasing him in an unyielding embrace.

The silence between them said more than enough.

"I understand that it was difficult, and I could never blame you for it. You weren't even aware of my existence until a little over a month ago. None of this was your fault."

He was _free_—if only for a moment. The gentle reassurance set his mind temporarily at ease. The images scattered and fled as he focused on the first touch of familial affection that he had received in the span of a tedious few years. For once, he was not alone, and there was someone for him to lean on other than the remainders of the man he used to identify himself as.

Arthur gradually pulled away, one hand still rubbing firm circles into his shoulders. "Alfred, dear boy, you should never have been expected to manage something this tragic on your own."

"I had no choice," Alfred retorted hoarsely, pressing a crumpled tissue against his nose. Then, he struggled to stand, staggering forward and into the kitchen as Arthur observed the scene in disbelief.

"You should be in bed."

"Zoey still needs to eat dinner," the younger argued, momentarily pressing his palms against his eyes as he forced down an onslaught of unwanted emotions. "G-God, I'm so screwed. Do you see what I did to that innocent little girl? I've stolen all of the joy she could've had. I brought her to this horrible place, and I failed to provide her with what she needs."

"She looks relatively happy and healthy to me."

Alfred scoffed, thoroughly scrubbing his hands in the kitchen sink. "You're wrong."

Arthur considered the retort for a second, vigilantly standing beside Alfred lest the other man collapsed. It was not his place to intervene in Alfred's relationship with Zoey, and he would let the subject rest for now. "You cannot stay here. Isn't there anyone you could reside with for the next few days, or until you get your bearings back? How about your mother?"

His heavy-hearted despondency had morphed into frothing ire at that. "My mother? Hah! Dad really kept you up-to-date, didn't he? Mom's still in Boston, hiding in that bottomless pit that she calls a home."

"I heard she was ill."

Alfred chuckled darkly, tears squeezing themselves out of his eyes as he slammed a plate on the counter. "She's the reason I had to leave Boston."

As if soothing a frightened animal, Arthur carefully removed the plate from Alfred's proximity, holding it at bay. "What did she do?"

"I'd rather not talk about it right now. Frankly, I've had enough family drama for one day."

Doing his best to be sympathetic, Arthur merely nodded in agreement, deciding that he would have to take actions into his own hands in order to ensure that justice prevailed. He placed his hands on Alfred's shoulders and sternly led him away from the kitchen counter and toward the living room once more.

"Gather some essential belongings," he instructed, already rounding the corner to tend to the young girl hiding in the bedroom.

Hovering shortly behind, Alfred furrowed. "Why?"

"We're going to the hospital."

"But I told—"

"I'm not going to negotiate this with you. In fact, I will call an ambulance right now if you don't start moving."

"But it's not a medical emergency!"

Bringing a hand to his head in irritation, Arthur glared in a manner that immediately slaughtered the protests on Alfred's lips. "On second thought, just sit _still_ and try to refrain from injuring yourself within the next five minutes."

And with that, Arthur entered the bedroom, cocking a brow at Zoey, who had taken refuge at the head of her bed. "We're going to take a little trip," he told her before sorting through the dresser by the opposite bed, which he assumed belonged to Alfred. He gathered a spare change of clothes for his nephew and piled them into a duffel bag before regarding the child again. "And don't worry, we'll be eating out today."

"Where are we going?"

"We're taking your foolhardy uncle to the hospital because he doesn't know how to properly take care of himself when he's ill."

Zoey lowered her chin in uncertainty, drawing her knees to her chest. This strange man was unnerving to be around, and she didn't want to go anywhere with him. However, the look in his eyes clearly said that there was no room for discussion, so she pulled on her shoes and grabbed her backpack, fearfully following the man back into the living room.

Arthur retrieved his messenger bag and swung that across his shoulder as well, narrowing his eyes at Alfred as he did so. "We'd best be off. Can you manage to walk yourself to the car?"

"I hope so."

Apparently, that answer wasn't satisfactory enough for Arthur, seeing as the man wrapped a hand around Alfred's upper arm to keep him steady as he led him out the door and into the musky hallway. "I'll be your escort, in that case."

"Okay, but let me tell you now that I don't have the cash to tip you well," Alfred managed to joke, stumbling a few times by the time they had reached the elevator. "This really isn't necessary by the way."

"Ah, but it is. Your condition is abhorrent."

"Aww, thanks," Alfred said dryly as they carefully made their way across the lobby with Zoey leading the way. "I appreciate the kind words."

And so, the trio clambered into the car and made their way for the hospital that Alfred was all-too-familiar with. The Emergency Room would undoubtedly be busy, but he couldn't disregard the severity of his illness any longer. Thus, he didn't put up much of a fight as he was led into the waiting area by Arthur, who temporarily left his side to contact someone who would immediately be able to find him an available bed.

Sometimes working in a hospital had its perks, especially when the staff on the floor recognized their fellow personnel in a poor state.

Within five minutes he had received a hospital bracelet and was wearily trudging toward the proffered bed before dropping onto it with a long groan of misery. "Why couldn't you let me die in peace?"

Arthur simply rolled his eyes. "Don't be so dramatic."

Meanwhile, Zoey lingered confusedly at the end of the bed, quite upset as she tried to process everything that was going on. "Is Alfred going to live?"

Arthur chuckled lightly with a devious grin. "Yes, he will, though his brain cells seem to be unresponsive."

"Oh, don't listen to him, Zoey-bug," Alfred huffed, blowing an exaggerated kiss at the girl from afar. "He's just a big bully. As soon as I'm better, I'm gonna give you the biggest hug you've ever seen."

"So, you're not mad about me answering the door?" she wondered apprehensively, finding it difficult to avoid Alfred and Arthur simultaneously.

Alfred shook his head steadily, guilt churning through his intestines. "Of course not. I shouldn't have yelled at you, sweetie. I was just being grouchy like Arthur."

"Very amusing," the other man ground out, looking around impatiently for the nurse to arrive as Zoey carefully sat on the edge of the bed. Thankfully, Iryna presented herself just a few moments later with a gleaming smile on her face.

She shook her head momentarily at Alfred, as if already understanding exactly what had happened before she began taking his vitals. "What did you do to yourself now? And who's this beautiful little girl?"

"Why does everyone assume that I did this? I can't help that my immune system betrayed me!" Alfred complained as he was poked and prodded. "This is Zoey, by the way. I'm—I'm looking after her."

Iryna didn't question him further about the strange circumstances, deciding instead to make quick work of the necessary protocol. Zoey sat silently the entire time, mesmerized by the movements of everyone in the room.

Arthur had circled around the bed to help, sighing peevishly. "I'll take care of the hep-lock," he volunteered, procuring the proper needle and disinfecting the crook of Alfred's arm.

"Iryna, don't let him torture me! Please, I'll even switch shifts with you!"

"Shush," Arthur ordered, not even bothering to warn the other before he dug the needle into his vein. "We're going to fix this mess, and I'm going to make sure that you get out of this unscathed."

It was oddly touching, Alfred had to admit. He couldn't remember the last time someone had fretted over his wellbeing to such an extent. "And how do you plan on doing that?"

"Alfred, I've dealt with far less compliant patients than you in the past, so this is one fight you won't win. Now, I know that the ER isn't exactly the most tranquil of places, but some rest wouldn't do any harm. Try to sleep, and Iryna and I will take care of everything else."

"But Zoey—"

"She will be fine as well. I'll take her to get food after you've been settled in."

Unable to find any other reason to avoid obeying, Alfred dutifully closed his eyes with a heavy sigh, dozing off in under a minute.

And for the first time, the sirens in his mind were muted.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **Yet another chapter. Please enjoy, and kindly leave a review. I'd really appreciate it! :D

* * *

"I want to go home."

The statement was firmly voiced in the quaint atmosphere of the small café, rousing the man across the table out of his thoughts.

"I know, but Alfred isn't well enough to be discharged out of the hospital just yet," Arthur told his new companion, watching as she toyed with her pasta. Now that he had the opportunity to take a closer look at her, he had to admit that she did, in fact, greatly resemble Alfred and Matthew. "And I don't want to have to tell him that you didn't touch your food, so make an effort to eat."

Zoey continued to sulk, awfully uncomfortable in the other man's presence. She wasn't certain whether he was trustworthy just yet, and there was something about his demeanor that just made her inherently uneasy. She peered up at his green eyes and then quickly returned her gaze to her plate, shifting nervously in her seat.

"When can he come home?"

"It depends on when his fever breaks."

He hadn't even had the chance to change out of his white coat since he'd left his office, and he absently considered what might occur if Alfred were to be held overnight. It had been a taxing day, and with Alfred out of commission, someone would have to watch over Zoey.

All in all, the child was quite endearing, and he could pick out her charm easily. She presented herself in a very adult-like manner, quick to act beyond her years despite being bashful. Soft-spoken yet highly-opinionated, her mind always seemed to be at work as she took in the world around her. Nonetheless, she had one blaring trait that he was certain Alfred had long toiled over and tried to remedy—wide-eyed naivety.

"You're in luck," Arthur noted after a moment, taking a sip of the tea he had purchased for himself. "You might be able to skip school on Monday."

Startled by the news, Zoey dropped her fork in fear. "No! I can't miss school!"

"And why not?"

"I have a test!" she exclaimed, as though the problem were obvious.

"You can always get a make-up exam," Arthur tried to reassure feebly, chiding himself for being unable to sympathize with the girl. Honestly, he was rather certain that whatever third-grade test this child had was not going to be life-altering. "We'll talk to Alfred about it later. Now, aren't you going to finish your meal?"

Glowering even more wretchedly than before, Zoey managed to force herself through a few swallows of the pasta, tears pooling in her eyes as she finally pushed the plate away resolutely. "I want to leave!"

Helplessly confused, Arthur sighed at the child. "What's wrong?"

"I d-don't want to be here anymore!" she declared, crossing her arms across her chest and suffering through a loud sob.

Biting his lip, Arthur realized that they had attracted some attention from the other customers, and thus, tried his best to quiet the girl's protests to the best of his abilities. "We'll be leaving in a few minutes, so there's no need to be so upset."

"T-That's not what I meant!" Zoey wailed, covering her face with her hands and tucking her legs closer to her chair. "I want to go home to Boston!"

He considered the words thoughtfully, offering the child a pitying look in the process. "Zoey… Have you spoken to Alfred about this? Does he know how you feel?"

Gasping for breath, the girl nodded her head slowly. "He said I'll g-get used to it, and that we just need time. W-We can't go back to Boston."

"And why is that?"

"Because Grandma won't let us into the house."

Dumbstruck, Arthur grappled for the right words, forehead creased. "Why in the world would she do that?"

Zoey merely shook her head, trembling as her bloodshot eyes were opened once more. "I d-don't know. She said that she couldn't take it anymore, and that we weren't allowed to come back. So, we came to New York, but everything is so different and I'm not sure I like it here! I just want to go back to our old house because the neighbors are loud next to our new apartment, and there are bugs, and—"

Circling the table to reach the child, Arthur snagged a napkin out of his pocket and thoroughly wiped the girl's face with it. While he didn't particularly like children, he had spent his fair share of time working with them, so his reluctance to act dissolved upon seeing the girl growing distraught.

"Don't cry," he consoled her with a weak smile, kneeling beside her chair. "We're going to fix things. Let's not think about it for now."

Sniffling with another hitch of breath, Zoey blinked at him woefully in response, unsure of whether or not to accept the soothing words. Nevertheless, she gave a nod of understanding, moving on to the next matter at hand. "Do I have to eat the rest of the dinner?"

Laughing softly, Arthur cocked his head slightly at her. "No, you don't, but we're not going to let it go to waste. Let's take the leftovers with us."

"Okay… Are we going to buy food for Alfred?"

"Hmm, I'm not so sure he'll have much of an appetite, but some soup couldn't do him any harm," he concluded, standing up to his full height before walking over to the counter to talk to the cashier. When everything had been settled, they began their trek back to the hospital.

"Uh-mm, Arthur?"

"Yes?"

"Thank-you."

Releasing a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, Arthur felt his heart soar without his consent.

"You're more than welcome."

* * *

"Rise and shine, lazy-bones."

Alfred released another abject moan upon being awoken from his nap, feeling the uncomfortable heat of the fever crawling up and down his skin. A chill ran through his muscles, and he was made aware of the numerous goose-bumps on his arms as he was covered with an extra blanket. Every section of his body was suffering through some form of pain, leaving him entirely disoriented and unable to budge.

"Relax, just be happy your brain isn't a baked-potato yet."

Fluttering his eyes open, he met the visitor with another long groan, unable to have his throat process any other sound for a good span of time. "Elizabeta, I'm dying, babe."

"No, you're not," the nurses' manager assured, sliding a damp towel across his hands and arms. "But you do have one of the most hellish fevers I've ever seen."

"How bad is it?"

"Pretty bad."

"Ugh…"

Elizabeta patted his shoulder comfortingly before running the towel across his sweating face as well. Truth be told, it felt heavenly. "Take it easy and you might be out of here by tomorrow."

He shut his eyes momentarily again, enjoying the cold ministrations in silence before the privacy curtain was pulled aside and another intruder decided to witness him in his sickly state. For the umpteenth time, he groaned—though he was sure to make this one louder than all of the previous ones.

"He sounds as good as new," Arthur remarked dryly as he made his presence known, sweeping over to Alfred's side and briefly greeting Elizabeta. "Any progress?"

Elizabeta let out a puff of breath at the inquiry, exchanging a downtrodden expression with Alfred. "We're getting there. Right, Alfred?"

"End it now, _please_."

Rummaging around for his stethoscope in his bag, Arthur withdrew it and put it to good use, assessing his nephew's breathing and heart rate once more. "The congestion in his lungs is a little troubling, so we'll keep an eye on that and order a chest x-ray if necessary."

"This just keeps getting better," Alfred groused, burying his face in a pillow. "Man, my head feels like it's gonna explode. What does a guy have to do to get some painkillers around here? Arthur, ask me what my pain level is."

Wrapping his stethoscope around his neck, Arthur decided to indulge the other. "All right, on a scale of zero to ten, with zero being no pain and ten being extreme pain, what is your pain level?"

"Fifty. Now, where's my morphine?"

"I'm afraid that's not how it works."

"Damn it."

Elizabeta let out a laugh of her own and tapped Alfred's sock-clad foot gently. "We'll see what we can do," she promised before cleaning up the supplies she'd brought in and retreating from the room once more.

Grimacing unhappily, Alfred rolled over onto his side and stared up at Arthur. "Where's my Zoey-bug?"

"Coloring at the nurses' station," Arthur informed with a wry smile, taking a seat in the chair by Alfred's bed. "She's quite worried about you."

"I can imagine."

"She expressed some of her concerns while we were out."

Draping an arm across his eyes to shield them from the fluorescent lights, Alfred found the will to speak through his sore throat. "Really? Like what?"

"Well," Arthur began hesitantly, straightening himself in his seat. "Foremost, she expressed her dislike of your new… living quarters."

"She's bothering you about it too? I explained to her that we don't have any other choice right now, and I'm doing my best to get us out of there as soon as possible."

"I've been thinking about it," Arthur continued with a frown, reaching over a hand to feel Alfred's forehead briefly, "and I wondered if you'd like to stay at my home for a while. It would be temporary, of course. Once you've procured yourself a place with better living standards then—"

Interjecting hastily, Alfred cut the other man off. "No, I couldn't let you do that for me."

"Alfred, I insist."

"And I insist that you let the subject go. There is no way that I'm placing such a burden on you, especially after everything that you've already done," Alfred stated adamantly, sitting up in bed.

Carding a hand through his hair with frustration, Arthur refused to back down. "At least consider it."

"No, I can't let you do this for me."

"Let me do it for Zoey, then."

The words left Alfred speechless, and he stared back at Arthur in pure amazement, unable to believe that anyone in the world would even think to do something so kind for him. Then, everything seemed to click into place, and he unraveled the mysterious offering. "She told you, didn't she?"

Catching along fairly quickly, Arthur begrudgingly replied, "Not all of the details, no."

"We spent a little under eight years in that house together—practically since Zoey was born." Alfred reminisced, thinking back to the many days he had spent in Boston—the very place where he had been raised. There were ample memories from those times, but not all of them were worth remembering. "And suddenly, Mom just seemed to lose it. I guess that as Zoey got older, she couldn't stand to see her become more and more like Matthew. I mean, it's been hard on me too, but that doesn't mean that I'm just going to abandon her. If anything, it means that I need to be by her side even more."

Arthur shook his head sorrowfully, exchanging a determined glance with Alfred. "You cannot do this on your own."

"I have to."

"No, you don't," Arthur persisted, unwilling to let the matter rest. "I will help you."

Scowling, Alfred mustered the strength to appear stern. "What if I don't want your help?"

"I don't really care what you want."

There was a drawn out staring contest between them, neither man backing down before they finally exchanged smirks.

"You're really _nothing _like my father," Alfred finally noted, laughing hoarsely. "How did our paths manage to cross?"

Contemplating the muse, Arthur clicked his tongue. "It's better not to question the workings of the world sometimes. Just enjoy the outcomes…"

And for once, Alfred decided not to argue.

* * *

It was quite late into the night by the time everything was settled and properly planned, but there was no real reason to rush. Alfred's throat had been delightfully soothed by the soup that he'd been forced to consume by Arthur and Zoey, leaving him pleasantly full and ready to give into another round of feverish sleep. Thus, he was in a stable condition with no reason to fret.

When the night shift had arrived, Arthur concluded that it was time to take action, and he retrieved his belongings along with his new partner-in-crime.

"Zoey, you're going to spend the night with your Uncle Arthur, okay? He'll take good care of you until I'm better," Alfred had told the child, wishing he could draw her close and plant a kiss on her head without fearing that he would spread his illness onto her. "Be good, and do what he says."

The girl didn't seem to be too excited about the idea of spending the night with someone whom she considered to be almost an entire stranger, especially not when Alfred was bedridden and in a poor state. "Can't I stay here with you?"

"I'm afraid not, darling," Alfred refused pointedly, his eyes already drooping of their own accord. "You can give me a call if you want to talk, but there's no reason to be scared."

Nibbling on her nail, the girl pouted at her caretaker. "But—"

"Nuh-uh. No buts, missy. He'll take you back to our apartment to pick up a few things for you and then you'll spend the night at his house. Got it?"

Zoey glanced at Arthur and then Alfred again, uncertainty still as bright as day in her eyes.

"Be brave for me. I know you'll behave yourself and make me proud, right?"

Zoey hummed noncommittally, feeling awfully small as she scrutinized Arthur once more. Being only four feet and two inches in height, the man easily towered over her. He didn't seem all that welcoming, but he had consoled her at the café, so maybe he wasn't all that bad.

As if reading his niece's thoughts, Alfred grinned. "Arthur wouldn't hurt a fly. He just _thinks_ he's mean and apathetic. Don't fall for his ploy!"

Rolling his eyes, Arthur put a strong hand on Zoey's upper back to lead her away. "Say goodbye."

Still nervous, but not wanting to be sent away without a proper departure, Zoey craned her head around to meet Alfred's sights once more. "Bye, Alfred. Feel better."

"Thanks, munchkin. It's going to be all right, you'll see!"

"Sleep well," Arthur ordered as they exited, pausing momentarily to turn off the lights above Alfred's bed.

"With Natalya as the night nurse, that'll be a challenge."

Chuckling to himself, Arthur pulled the privacy curtain to a close and guided Zoey through the maze of the hospital and the scattering of patients. Soon enough, they were in the parking lot, and they entered the car in relative silence, neither being able to break the ice between them.

Finally, Arthur made a meager attempt at a conversation as he started the engine. "Don't forget to put your seatbelt on."

Nodding her head fiercely, Zoey heeded the instruction, spending most of her time gazing out the window as they drove through the traffic of the city and crossed the Brooklyn Bridge. The city's skyline was shimmering with life in the distance, and she admired the sight before they reached the expressway, and she no longer had such a clear view.

"We'll visit Alfred in the afternoon," Arthur announced as they neared the apartment building. "I'm sure he'd be thrilled if you gave him a get-well card or some other nice gesture."

Not really paying much mind to the conversation, Zoey made a small noise of agreement, hopping out of the car once they had reached the appropriate block. "What do we need to get?"

"Extra clothes, items for school, and maybe you'd like to bring a few toys as well."

"Okay, I've never had a sleepover before."

It was a simple acknowledgment, but it led Arthur to wonder what else this child had missed out on without her parents being by her side, and it made his chest ache uncomfortably. "Well, there's a first time for everything," he said instead as they went upstairs and unlocked the door to the apartment with the key that Alfred had entrusted him with.

At once, the girl rushed to collect her things, not bothering to spare a single glance at Arthur as she busied herself. As much as she feared strangers, her dislike of the apartment was far greater, and she was merely content in knowing that she would be able to experience a night elsewhere.

When Arthur had made sure that the girl had enough essentials packed, they made their way back to the car and continued their drive, though this time around, Zoey found herself growing slightly more exhilarated.

"Where do you live?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow, surprised that the girl had spoken. "Staten Island."

"Oh," she finished, trying to recall whether she'd been to the area before. "I think Alfred once said that the people in Staten Island are cut off from the rest of the city."

Smiling mildly at that, Arthur shrugged his shoulders. "The commute is terrible if one doesn't know how to drive. We don't have the luxury of taking the subway like everyone else."

"My mom and dad used to live in Staten Island."

Stunned into silence, Arthur tried to steer the conversation in a different direction. "It's quiet, at least… Sometimes the fast-paced nature of the city is tiring."

Zoey seemed to agree, blinking at the gleaming lights of the next bridge that they were crossing—the Verrazano. "Do you like it when it's quiet?"

"Very much so," Arthur admitted with a little chuckle and a sigh. "When you get to be my age, you'll want to be as far away from human civilization as possible."

"Why?"

"Because being around people all of the time can be irritating. When you're old, everything suddenly becomes annoying, and you lose your patience easily," Arthur half-heartedly joked, steering them down the next exit. They drove through a number of houses before they reached a more isolated street. There, Arthur's house was perched in the middle, modest in size and well-kept.

Parking in the driveway, he stepped out of the car first, fumbling around for the keys in his messenger bag. "Come along, then," he called upon finding them, waving for Zoey to follow him into the house.

Clutching her backpack, the girl anxiously bounded forward, enjoying the cool breeze ruffling through her hair as she reached the front door.

"I didn't know New York had houses like this."

Preoccupied with unlocking the door, Arthur tilted his head slightly to the side. "Like what?"

"It's not a townhouse," she noted, pleased to see that Arthur's nearest neighbors were halfway up the block.

"See, Staten Island isn't so bad," Arthur said with a humored grin, inviting the child inside. "I'll help you get set up in the guestroom."

"My own room?"

Nodding promisingly, Arthur set down his things and led Zoey upstairs, ushering her into the aforementioned bedroom. "It should do for now, yes?"

"The bed is big!" Zoey cheered, dashing forward and collapsing onto the mattress. "It's like the one I had in Boston!"

Arthur smiled softly, pleased to find that he'd finally managed to make the girl happy again. "I suppose that means it'll suffice. Get ready for bed, all right? I have to tidy up downstairs. I'll be back in just a minute."

Squealing with glee, Zoey hopped on the bed and tested it for ultimate bounciness. When it had met the criteria, she changed into her pajamas, not nearly as concerned as she had been before. This house was far better than the apartment, and she wished she could live in this room forever, growing old and experiencing all of life's wonders in between those four walls.

Oh, if only Alfred could've seen this!

"Is everything okay in there?"

"Uh-huh!"

Arthur returned, no longer wearing his white coat, but still in his dress clothes for work. "Well then, brush your teeth, and then it'll be time for bed."

"Already? Alfred lets me stay up later!"

"It's been a trying day, and we could both use the extra sleep," Arthur reasoned, making sure that Zoey tended to her proper dental hygiene before escorting her back to her makeshift room.

And then, she had climbed into bed, wiggling around for quite some time before finding a comfortable spot, feeling all of her troubles melt away as she let the cozy covers lull her to sleep. "Goodnight, Uncle Arthur."

Feeling something stir in his stomach upon hearing the child say those words, Arthur smiled warmly, surprising himself with the action. It was strange, but the girl had wrangled a myriad of smiles out of him throughout the course of the day, and after having spent only a few hours with her, he had already accepted her as not only biological family, but also family in the emotional sense of the word.

There was no turning back now. He had entered uncharted territory.

"Goodnight, Zoey."

Shutting the door halfway so that he would be able to hear any possible shouts of distress from the child, Arthur went about turning in as well, changing into something far more casual before retreating to his own bedroom down the hall. Afterward, he texted Alfred to check if he was asleep, which—of course—he wasn't.

"_How are you faring?" _

"_I'm on my nightly patrol. Natalya is about to do rounds again. How's Zoey?" _

"_She's asleep. You should follow her example." _

"_The coughing is keeping me up anyway." _

"_Let Natalya know. She'll give you a cough suppressant." _

"_Over my dead body. Just kidding… I'll give it a try. Anyway, sleep tight!"_

"_Don't do anything idiotic. Goodnight." _

When he was sure that the other wouldn't respond with further comments, Arthur decided it was safe to finally go to sleep. Thus, he laid down and tried to relax his tense shoulders, mulling over the day's events. Eventually, one train of thought meshed into others, and he was no longer conscious of his surroundings, drifting off fairly quickly.

* * *

Unable to find a clock in the room, Zoey was unsure of how much time had passed since she'd gotten into bed. However, what she_ did_ know was that she was thirsty, and her parched tongue would not allow her to get anymore rest before being tended to.

Therefore, she tiptoed out of bed and set her sights on the kitchen, carefully making her way downstairs and traversing through the darkness of the house with only an inkling of fear. When she had reached her destination, she groped around for a light switch on the wall, flailing her arm hap-hazardously through the air.

Unfortunately, instead of finding the light, her hand knocked into something resting on a side-table, and it was brought down to the ground with a splintering crash. Crying out in surprise, she took a step back in the darkness as a stinging feeling spread across her palm. The stinging gave way to burning, and she cradled her hand in the other, trying to squint through the black void of the room for salvation.

When the light finally flickered on, she nearly jumped out of her skin with a horrified screech. "I didn't mean to!"

Blinking through the brightness, there was a weary mumble of some sort before she was being led across the room and over to the counter. When her eyes had adjusted to the light, she realized that Arthur had entered the room, groggy and disoriented as he perused the broken vase on the tiled floor.

"I'm sorry!" she swiftly apologized, hoping that the man wouldn't yell at her for her clumsiness. If there was one thing she despised and feared more than anything else, it was being scolded.

Carefully scooping up the porcelain pieces, Arthur discarded them with ease, sweeping up the smaller shards into a dustpan and making sure he hadn't missed any debris before swiveling back around to face Zoey.

"What are you doing up at this time?" he interrogated, rubbing his eyes tiredly before noticing that Zoey was holding her hand against her chest. Gradually, he stepped forward and took the ailing hand in his own to inspect it.

"I was just trying to get a drink… Alfred always gives me a glass of milk when—"

"You're hurt," Arthur interrupted, suddenly coming to his senses upon seeing the blood oozing out of Zoey's palm. With a single movement, he scooped the child up and deposited her on the counter before turning on the faucet. Then, he guided the injury beneath the rushing water.

Hissing, Zoey felt tears make themselves known in the corners of her eyes. "Oww!"

"You just grazed the surface," Arthur assured, cleaning the cut properly before drying the area with a paper towel. He left the kitchen for a moment and returned with some gauze and a small tube of ointment. "Easily fixable," he told her softly, creating a tentative dressing. "Better?"

"Yeah, thank-you."

Concealing a yawn behind his hand, Arthur retrieved a glass and poured some milk into it, passing it to the girl like a peace-offering. "Next time, I'd prefer if you'd wake me up rather than doing things alone and placing yourself in danger."

And suddenly, Arthur didn't appear to be nearly as scary as he had earlier in the day. For a moment, she noted the cordialness in his eyes, recognizing the familiarity that had been lingering in his features. "You look like someone I know."

"That's because I look like my brother, hmm? Well, I certainly hope I don't share any other traits with him," Arthur noted darkly, helping Zoey off of the counter as she finished drinking the milk. "Are you ready to head back to bed? I trust your hand doesn't hurt as much anymore?"

Offering the man an insightful expression, she shook her head. "It's much better now."

"Off to bed with you then," Arthur shooed, urging the child up the stairs again. "No more injuries for tonight, all right?"

Smiling cheekily, Zoey nodded her head, deducting that this was by far the coolest sleepover she'd probably ever go to. "I'll try to be more careful."

Arthur scoffed, but his tone held no harsh feelings. "The key word there is 'try'."

And then, she returned to her designated room, unknowingly stepping into the start of her new life. Oh, how things would change—two uncles and one rapidly growing little girl.

What could possibly go wrong?


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **I apologize for the tardy update. I've been swamped with schoolwork, but I promise that I'm still doing my best to write as often as possible. Please enjoy the chapter and kindly leave a review, it really makes a huge difference and gets me to drag myself to the keyboard when I'd sometimes rather nap. x)

* * *

"Well, look who it is!"

Dimples highlighting her toothy smile, Zoey timidly approached Alfred's bedside the following day, hands laden with a card made of construction paper and a number of 'get-well' balloons. "Are you better now?"

"Almost," Alfred replied with his own grin, much less weary than he'd been previously. He no longer felt comatose, and had regained some of the strength in his limbs. Carefully, he reached over to accept Zoey's presents. "Thanks for the super awesome stuff! I think it's safe for me to give you that hug you've been waiting for, so come over here and let me hold my Zoey-bug again."

Rubbing her shoes against the floor in uncertainty, the girl risked a few steps forward, allowing herself to be encased in Alfred's warm arms. She breathed in his scent, realizing how much she had missed his presence over the course of his quarantine. "Don't ever get sick again, okay?"

Chuckling, Alfred scooped the child up and onto the bed with him, resting her on his lap snugly. "I don't know if I can promise that. Hey, where's that weirdo uncle of ours?"

"He's talking to someone."

"What kind of someone?"

"I don't know," she admitted, chewing on the nail of her thumb. "Somebody important."

Furrowing, Alfred decided to let the subject slide for the moment. "Right… Did everything go okay last night?"

"Yeah. I hurt my hand, but Uncle Arthur fixed it. He's still sorta scary though."

Finally taking note of the dressing on the child's palm, Alfred took the injured hand in his own and held it close to his heart. "Well, I see he did a good job taking care of it. You've always been a little clumsy."

"Have not!"

"Yes, you have!" Alfred teased brightly, loving whenever he had the opportunity to get under the girl's skin. She was quite cute when frustrated, and it reminded him of the many times that he had mocked and antagonized Matthew. "I think I'll be getting out of here today. Are you happy about that?"

Smirking with a blush, Zoey considered the question. "I guess… I was having fun without you."

"Traitor!" Alfred exclaimed with a gasp, jabbing a finger at Zoey's chest. "You're going to be in big trouble for saying that!"

"No! You can't scare me!"

"Ahh, but I know your weakness," the man reminded, bringing his hands to either side of Zoey's waist before tickling her relentlessly. "Surrender now!"

"NEVER!" Zoey shrieked through a squeal of joy, slapping at Alfred's hands. A few blonde curls obscured her vision throughout the skirmish. "Let me go!"

"Hmm… I'm feeling sympathetic today, so I'll let you go with a warning," Alfred conceded, dropping his arms back onto the bed just as the privacy curtain was abruptly pulled open for what seemed like the hundredth time. "Another trespasser?"

Giving a brief nod of acknowledgment, Arthur entered the room and dropped a stack of papers on a nearby counter. "Good afternoon, Mr. 'Jones'—as you now call yourself. I'm sorry to announce that you'll be parting ways with the splendid faculty of this facility today."

"Aww, but I was just getting to know my fellow inmates," Alfred muttered with an exhausted laugh. "The drunkard being treated for alcohol poisoning down the hall was shouting all night long."

Green eyes shimmering with dry humor, Arthur pursed his lips and ambled to the bedside, gently peeling off the medical tape surrounding the IV line that rested in the crook of Alfred's arm. "Yes, our ER is world-renown for our state-of-the-art beds and ambient environment," he flaunted with a lack of expression. "Hold still."

Alfred watched with scrutiny as the needle was removed, leaving only a miniscule mark in its wake. A bandage soon was placed over the area, and he ran a hand through his hair when his arm was set free. "I probably stink, huh?"

"Yeah, you need a bath!" Zoey affirmed, curling up her nose at the man.

"It's not too apparent," Arthur half-heartedly consoled with another mocking smile. He fished a pen out of his pocket and passed Alfred the pile of documents. "Signature, please."

Scribbling his name in squiggly cursive, Alfred skimmed through the remaining papers. "Thanks for getting copies of my bloodwork and everything else. It's good to have a personal record so that I can keep track of all the things wrong with me."

"Well, as we all know, those in their twenties are notorious for thinking they're invincible. It's rather satisfying to prove to them that they actually_ are _capable of contracting illnesses."

Scoffing, Alfred slowly sat up and ushered Zoey to stand. "Live fast and die young, right? There's nothing wrong with wanting to follow that philosophy. I don't want to rot away in a nursing home for fifteen years before I die."

"I'd rather pass away of old age and experience the full length of my life rather than sacrifice it for the thrill of a moment," Arthur countered, offering Alfred a hand to help him up.

The younger man grimaced softly as he tested his legs, finding them to be relatively strong albeit wobbly from lack of recent use. "In that case, Zoey and I will find you a nice nursing home out in Florida or something, so you can be close to the beach, old man. Actually, you don't seem that old. I don't think you ever mentioned your age."

"I can assure you that I'm far from retirement age," Arthur revealed with a huff, passing his nephew a change of clothes. "Come along, Zoey. We'll let him change in peace. Do let us know if you need any assistance. I really don't want to have to call the nurse if you collapse."

"I'll be fine!"

"I find that hard to believe!"

Stepping around the privacy curtain with Zoey and bringing it to a close, the pair waited a painstakingly long amount of time for Alfred to make himself presentable.

"Are you sure you're all right in there?"

"Yes, mother-hen," Alfred griped, finally revealing himself as he exited the room that he had been bedridden in overnight. "Seriously though, my father's fifty-three, so you've gotta be around that age too. You're the youngest of the group, right?"

Arthur momentarily ignored the questions, depositing the signed documents at the nurses' station before leading the way down the corridor. "Unfortunately. I endured many years of abuse because of it."

"So, let me take a guess. Are you fifty?"

"No."

"Fifty-one?"

"No."

"At least tell me if I'm getting warmer?"

They made their way out to the parking lot, whereupon an explosion of sunlight bombarded Alfred's eyes and left him disoriented for a few seconds. Unable to see where he was going, he promptly tripped over his own feet, catching himself by latching onto Arthur's shoulder. "That was close."

"I'm surprised you've managed not to fracture any bones by this point," Arthur grumbled with a mildly alarmed expression. "Watch where you're going and stop with your pestilence of questions. I'm forty-five."

Righting himself and taking in the new information, Alfred raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "That's a pretty big age gap."

"Yes, now you see why I was such a target for my brothers," Arthur remarked as they reached the car. "We'll be picking up as many of your belongings as possible from that terrible apartment. We'll make a second trip when you've fully recovered, if necessary."

Staggering into the passenger's seat, Alfred drew his aching skull back and onto the headrest, letting out a wide yawn in the process. "All right… Thanks again, Arthur. I really do appreciate all you've done for me."

"You're welcome..."

Zoey slid into the back, sprawling across the width of the car. There was a moment of hushed movement as they all put on their seatbelts and got settled, and Arthur paused as he turned the ignition key.

"Alfred?"

"Yup?"

"Not everyone in the world is awful… If there's one thing I've learned as a doctor, it's that while everyone is entitled to treatment, there are those who deserve it as well… And when you treat a person that _deserves _to be treated, you cure them every time, even if their illness is terminal. Not in a physical sense, perhaps, but certainly on an emotional level."

Fiddling with cuff of his shirt, Alfred hung his head sullenly. "Why are you telling me this?"

Arthur took in a large breath and let his eyes wander toward the multitude of skyscrapers surrounding them. Just a sliver of the sky could be seen between their massive girths. Then, he set the car in motion, noting vaguely how Zoey already seemed to be lost in her own thoughts from the rearview mirror.

"You can't fool me with your false joy. I—I used to be a very miserable person, Alfred. In some ways, I still am. However, it's all written right there in your eyes. As much as you'll probably deny it, you have a deep mistrust and dislike for people. Of course, I don't blame you for it, since you've been conditioned to feel such a way, especially after all of the loss you have experienced."

Swiveling around to look at Arthur, the younger man found his heartbeat quickening, filling him with some sort of relentless anxiety.

"I'm sorry for what people have done to you, Alfred."

Those words… For years he'd been yearning for some sort of justice and compensation—an apology from society at large for his misfortunes, and to hear it from Arthur—of all people—made him inexplicably grief-stricken. "You don't have to—"

Arthur shook his head, leading them through the maze of the city. "Yes, I do. When terrible tragedies happen, someone has to have the courage to speak out about them on behalf of everyone. And I want you to know that I'm sorry. _Truly _sorry. Please, don't think badly of the world because of what has been done to you. They were a few bad seeds, Alfred. I have met so many wonderful people through my work, and I assure you that not all of humanity is bitter."

And again, he wasn't sure exactly what triggered the wetness in his eyes, but it was there, and he hated it. "If it wasn't for them, he'd still be alive. He wouldn't have gone into that burning tower to save complete strangers. He'd be with his daughter. Why did he take the call?"

"For the same reason you're a nurse. I've seen the way you act around children—I know you have hope for each of them."

Alfred frowned, rubbing at his face uneasily. "If you like humanity so much why do you call yourself miserable?"

"I did some reckless things in my youth, which I now regret. My life would've been much different if I'd been a little more optimistic at times," Arthur recalled almost wistfully as they reached the highway.

Rolling down the window, Alfred tiredly turned his head to stare outside, enjoying the feeling of the rushing breeze running across his skin and ruffling his hair. "I've thought about doing some reckless things before, but I've got responsibilities…" he whispered into the wind. "Like I said, dying young wouldn't be so bad."

"That's not true," Arthur hastily reprimanded, eyes focused on the road despite his growing frustration. "It's selfish to think that."

"I want to be selfish for once."

Reaching an arm across the seat, Arthur plastered a hand to Alfred's forehead. "You're delirious again, aren't you? You still have a bit of a fever… Things will change and you'll come to appreciate the little quirks of life that are still worth living for."

"Such as?"

"I'd say our encounter is rather notable. It's something that's turned out to be positive, I'd like to think. You don't have to return to your ruddy apartment anymore. Simply changing your surroundings might brighten your spirits. It certainly seemed to work for Zoey last night."

Hearing her name, the girl immediately directed her attention toward the men. "Why are you talking about me?"

"It's nothing, munchkin," Alfred reassured, peeking behind his seat to catch a glimpse of the child. "You've got nothing to worry about."

Nothing at all.

* * *

He hated to have to be the one to admit that his uncle had been right again, but there was no way around the fact. The moment he had stepped through the door of the house, he understood Zoey's fascination with the atmosphere. It was secluded yet homely. The simple pine-wood flooring and cream colored walls seemed to be glowing, filling the rooms with a radiance that was so unlike their chipped and rusty apartment.

Within the following hour, he had made himself comfortable in the room across from where Zoey had claimed her territory, equipped with a novel and a cup of hot tea. Though not much of a tea-fanatic, he enjoyed the warmth of the beverage traveling down his throat and leaving him feeling less chilled to the core. By the time he'd made it through the entire cup, his eyes decided they could use a lengthy rest, leaving him slumped against the industrial complex of pillows that he'd created for himself.

As expected, his dreams were panicked and nonsensical. He had broken out into a full sprint, chest heaving as he was seemingly running away from something. When he had reached a dead end, he dove from a cliff that had materialized at the edge of the world.

He soared through a mist of starry lights and bright flashes, coming to an abrupt halt in midair.

"Why are you running away from me?"

Recognizing the voice, his breath caught in his throat as he forced himself to swivel around. "H-How?"

Those eyes paired with hair that wasn't nearly as unruly as his own greeted him patiently. A compassionate hand reached out toward him, and he quickly moved to accept it.

"Matthew?"

The hand had disappeared, and he stared down at the spot where its form had once been.

"Why are you running away from me?"

He blinked and lifted his gaze again, mouth gaping as Zoey suddenly replaced where Matthew had previously been standing. She wore a meek expression, head tilted slightly to one side as she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Are you scared?"

"Zoey—"

"Do you love me?"

Stepping forward with outstretched arms, he nodded furiously. "Of course."

"Then let that be enough. Why can't you let that be enough?"

* * *

"Shhh… You're all right."

Gasping for breath, Alfred jolted forward in a chilled panic, shivering violently as he squinted at the dimly lit bedroom. The lamp on the nightstand had been turned on, illuminating the room somewhat and keeping the creeping shroud of darkness at bay.

Swallowing roughly with a grimace, he gently laid himself back down on the damp bedspread. "What time is it?"

"Nine in the evening. You've been immobile for most of the day," Arthur murmured with a frown. "On the bright side, your fever is breaking—once and for all, I should hope." He rummaged around through some items on the nightstand, revealing a glass of water just a moment later. "Best to stay hydrated."

Nodding and accepting the offering, Alfred greedily downed the water, parched and uncomfortably warm everywhere. "Thanks. I'm sorry for being such a burden."

"If I didn't want to help, I wouldn't have let you stay here… I imagine that was quite the nightmare you had."

Reaching a hand behind his head to rub his neck, Alfred merely shrugged his shoulders. "It happens a lot, unfortunately."

Humming to himself in thought, Arthur leaned against the windowsill beside the bed. "Have you talked to anyone about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Some grief counseling or a support group wouldn't hurt. It's not healthy to deny yourself the time to cope," Arthur reasoned, creaking the window open slightly to allow a fresh breeze into the room. The smell of the wet pavement from an evening drizzle awakened the sick man's senses immediately, rousing him out of his sloth-like movements.

Sniffling away the congestion in his sinuses, Alfred sighed. "It's been eight years. I'm fine."

"I beg to differ."

"Time heals all wounds, right? Look, I've got it under control, okay?"

The elder man clicked his tongue disapprovingly but made no further comments, deciding that it really wasn't his place to pry in such personal matters. "Fine then, do as you wish."

There was a long stretch of uncomfortable silence afterward, at which point Alfred tried to search for a reason to leave the prison of the bed. "Hey, I think I'm finally gonna go and take that shower because I reek. Is that all right with you?"

"Are you feeling strong enough?"

It was now a matter of pride, and thus, Alfred immediately dipped his head in affirmation. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he carefully stood on his wobbly limbs. His body had rebelled against him, and it was harder than he'd expected it to be to make the trip to the doorway.

Panting by the time he'd crossed the length of the room, he let out a tired chuckle. "I feel like an old lady. You wouldn't happen to have a walker on you, would you?" he joked, stumbling into the hallway.

"Here, let me give you a hand."

"No, I'm good, thanks!"

"Can't you cease being an idiot for just a moment?"

"I'm not an—! Oww! Leg cramp!"

"Serves you right!"

"Umm, what are you guys doing?"

Turning around in unison, both men stopped in their tracks as the little bewildered voice rang at them from the top of the stairs. Zoey pressed her eyebrows together in confusion, watching in mild amusement as Alfred struggled to release himself from the vice-grip Arthur had around his waist.

Clearing his throat in an authoritative manner, Alfred fixed his slouching posture and stood up straight, flopping around momentarily in a last ditch attempt to free himself. "Oh, we were just having a chat…"

"You're both freaking me out," the child accused, chewing on her upper lip. "I think I'll get ready for bed now…"

"That's a good idea," Alfred seconded.

When the girl was out of sight once more, Alfred glared menacingly at his uncle. "Don't traumatize my niece."

"Oh, I'm the one traumatizing her now? You can't reverse the damage that's been done to her after all of the years you've spent with her."

Crossing his arms, Alfred took a few steady steps forward. "Hey, I've been a pretty cool caretaker so far."

"Yes, and the lack of discipline you've instilled upon the girl explains why she thinks you are beneath her," Arthur huffed, giving his nephew a critical look.

"She doesn't think that."

"Admit it, you're a pushover, lad."

Affronted, Alfred stormed into the bathroom and locked the door behind him, keeping Arthur out and far away. "Am not!"

Scoffing in the corridor, Arthur continued to make his argument known. "She treats you like a friend, and not like a father figure."

"And what's so bad with that?"

"Nothing, but she should know that you deserve a bit more respect as her legal guardian," Arthur countered, listening as Alfred grumbled something furiously under his breath and turned on a stream of steaming water.

"Daft numpty," Arthur jeered, going about his way. He scowled one last time at the door, lips pursed firmly. "You'll see, in due time."

* * *

The weekend was far too short, in everyone's opinion, but Monday morning did not seem to mind the numerous complaints, greeting its adversaries with another workweek. From a distance, everything appeared to be ordinary and routine, but Zoey knew better than to fall for such a trick.

Though the sunlight filtering through the blinds was the same as always, the blinds themselves were very different. She awoke to a new bed, new atmosphere, and new outlook on the day. There seemed to be a certain kind of excitement and simmering enthusiasm in the air, and she actually found herself shedding a smile upon leaving the warmth of the bed to tackle an unspoiled day.

"Take the day off," she heard as she entered the kitchen, unsurprised to find her two uncles bickering already. She was growing used to their constant arguments, and accepted them as a sign that all was relatively well and in order.

Alfred was chugging a cup of coffee, dressed in his blue scrubs and white Nike's. "You really have to prescribe yourself some anti-anxiety meds. I'm perfectly fine. I'm not contagious anymore, and a leftover case of sniffles isn't going to keep me from doing my job."

"I'd hardly consider the H1N1 virus a case of the 'sniffles'."

Taking another long sip of coffee, Alfred finally noted Zoey's presence and smiled with his eyes. "Good morning, cutie pie. Ready for another awesome day of third-grade?"

She breathed in the scent of cinnamon waffles topped with bananas—Alfred's specialty. He must've volunteered to make breakfast. "Nope."

"Aww, well… Got any tests today?"

"Mm-hmm," she replied, hopping into a chair and taking a plate of waffles. "It'll be easy though."

Smirking, Alfred stroked the girl's hair gently. "Oh, yeah? I expect you to bring home a hundred, then, or you'll be in big trouble. Pinkie-promise?"

"Yeah," Zoey agreed, locking pinkies with the man. "You're coming to the talent show next week, right? My class is performing."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Smiling contentedly, she ventured a glance at Arthur, shrinking under his gaze involuntarily before turning her attention back to Alfred. "Will Uncle Arthur come too?"

"If you want… You'll have to invite him, though," Alfred suggested, smiling expectantly at the other man. "He's a busy man, you know. He'll need to pencil you in on his schedule."

Nibbling the inside of her cheek, Zoey swallowed the last piece of her breakfast nervously. She was hoping she wouldn't have to invite the other, seeing as his presence was unnerving, but it would be rude for her to back out now. "Uncle Arthur? Could you please come to my school's talent show next Tuesday?"

The man's eyes brightened substantially, and Zoey wondered why the man didn't smile more often, seeing as he was much less scary when he did so. "It'd be my pleasure."

Slumping slightly in her seat in a mixture of fear and disappointment, Zoey said the words that Alfred expected her to say. "Thank you… Can we leave now? I don't want to be late."

Laughing with a look of reassurance, Alfred nodded and helped to clear the table with Arthur. "Go brush your teeth and get your things. We'll leave in five minutes."

And five minutes came as promptly as ever because she was soon buckled into the backseat of the SUV, head lolling to one side and resting on her shoulder as she watched the other men, women, and children bustling about to bring about the start of the day. It was a collective action, she realized—to be making one's way to work and school, and it was nice to know that she wasn't the only one forced to choose education over sleep.

The morning rush-hour wasn't too much of a headache, and they arrived at her school relatively early. While Arthur waited in the car, Alfred abandoned his seat to escort her down the sidewalk and through the entrance gates leading to the building, as was their usual morning ritual.

"Have a good day, Zoey."

"You too, Alfred."

The man crouched before her for a minute, staring past her figure and over at the other children that were assembling with their various classes. A number of parents scurried around them as well, planting kisses on foreheads and zipping up backpacks before bidding their younglings farewell.

Sighing softly, Alfred drew Zoey into a strong hug, resting a hand on her head. "I love you."

"Love you too…"

"Are you sure?"

"Uh-huh."

"Really sure?"

"Yes!" Zoey promised with a giggle, squeezing Alfred tightly in return. "Will you come and pick me up?"

"Yeah, but I'm afraid you're going to have to stay at the afterschool program for a while because I don't get out of work until five. Arthur and I will come and get you, okay?"

"But I don't like going to afterschool."

"I know, Zoeybug, but we don't have a choice. Now that we're staying with Arthur, you can't just take the bus from here," Alfred explained calmly, running a hand over the child's back. "It'll just be for two hours. You can finish up your homework there and play with your friends. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

Frowning, Zoey scuffed her shoes on the cement. "I don't know… Most of the people that stay for afterschool don't know me."

"Well, then you'll make new friends! Everyone will like you!"

It was easier said than done—trying to get out of one's shell. Zoey wasn't the most sociable of children, and usually only spoke when she participated in class of felt the need to share her opinion on a topic that interested her. Otherwise, she kept mostly to herself. Naturally, when Alfred asked if she had many friends, she'd make up stories to appease him.

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

"Chin up, sweetie. If you keep frowning, your face will stay like that forever," Alfred teased, chastely setting a kiss atop the girl's head before urging her to meet with her class. He observed her departure, and once she was in the care of her teacher, he made his retreat back past the entrance gates and over to the car once more.

Arthur started the car once he had his seatbelt on, heading for the hospital. "Did everything go all right?"

"Yeah, it'll be fine. Zoey's just a little worrywart sometimes," Alfred stated with a faltering grin, propping up his head with one arm on the car door. "She's tough though, so I'm sure she'll manage."

"I see…"

They arrived at work shortly afterward, and it wasn't until Alfred was back on the floor of the ER again that he discovered his absence had been noted by many. A majority of the staff asked him if he was faring well, and he shared a few good-humored remarks with them before settling back into the customary swing of the day.

He could've lived without the morning huddle, though.

"We need to start working on punching out on time, guys. This is an extremely important procedure that we must abide by and—"

He zoned out during the remainder of Elizabeta's speech, deciding instead to mentally organize the tasks that he would have to complete throughout the course of the day. When the info-session had been completed, he returned to the nurses' station, hoping that his shift wouldn't be too hectic.

Lucky for him though, a new admission prompted his attention and Arthur briefed him on the situation. "Hypotensive, confused, _and_ vomiting adult male who stopped taking his betamethasone."

"Sounds like a blast," Alfred groaned, taking the medical file from Arthur to skim it. "Tell me that I love my job."

"You love your job. In fact, you _adore _it."

Smiling cheekily, Alfred mustered a spring in his step. "Thanks, I need to be reminded sometimes. We've all been there, I'm sure."

"I'll leave you to it then."

"Hey, are you gonna buy your tea at Starbucks today?"

Rolling his eyes with a shake of the head, Arthur said tersely, "What do you want?"

"The usual."

"Caramel Macchiato?"

"Yes, you're the best."

"I know."

Alfred took a moment to laugh at the elder's smug expression as he trudged away before tending to the aforementioned patient.

There was nothing like starting off the day right by cleaning up some vomit.

Oh, yes, he loved his job, all right.


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: Phew, I'm back. I've missed you all, and it's about time that I updated this story. I can't wait to show you everything that I have planned for this series, and I hope you're as excited as I am. As such, please enjoy the chapter and leave a review!

(P.S. I'd just like to clarify that since Seychelles doesn't seem to have an official human name, I've named her Michelle in this chapter, which I suppose is close enough. Expect a few more characters to be introduced over time.)

* * *

The world was not made for introverts—that much was for certain.

Zoey exhaled a long and arduous sigh as she rested her elbows atop her desk, watching the clock and silently pleading with it to skip forward an hour in order to spare her from the sheer boredom of having to sit in her afterschool class. She didn't know any of the children in the program, and while some of them seemed vaguely familiar, she was far too much of a coward to approach them. Besides, a number of them were older, and she never dared to stray outside of her age group.

As someone who considered themselves to be socially inept, any kind of interaction that Zoey sought with her classmates always resulted in humiliation. Occasionally, she wondered if she might be able to spend the rest of her life locked away at home, sparing herself from further embarrassment and fear.

The more she pondered over the possibility, the more sense it seemed to make. She could order her meals online and have them delivered to her doorstep. She'd hire someone to visit on a weekly basis to help her take out the garbage. She'd pursue her dream of becoming a journalist by creating her own blog and documenting breaking news right from the comfort of her own room. Maybe she'd be discovered by a well-renowned newspaper or magazine and—

"Hey! Whatcha doin'? Who does homework during afterschool? That's something that only a nerd would do!"

She frowned and squared her shoulders; yes, she'd have her meals shipped in parcels and would invest in exercise equipment to stay in shape.

"What do you want? Go away, you're bothering me."

A boy with hair that was so light it nearly appeared to be white blinked back at her. Though she couldn't quite explain why, he held a sinister look in his eyes that spelled trouble.

The boy reached out a hand and snatched the worksheet that Zoey had absently been working on, checking it over for mistakes. "You're pretty good at math for a third grader," he begrudgingly admitted with a hand on his chin. After a moment, however, it was clear that he could not settle for merely handing out a compliment. "Haha! You're such a goody-two-shoes!"

Flustered, Zoey felt her cheeks grow red. "Am not!"

"Oh, yeah? What's one bad thing you've ever done?" the boy challenged, an irritating grin stretching across his face.

"I don't know! I'd have to think about it first!" she argued, heart ramming against her chest as she glared at the other in what she hoped was an intimidating manner. Alfred had always tried to get her to stand up for herself, and now she had the opportunity to prove that she could be adamant.

Fairly smug, the boy crossed his arms pointedly and deposited the worksheet on the desk once more. "If you have to think about it, then you're a goody-two-shoes for sure! It's okay—you'll grow out of it."

"Maybe you should grow out of being a jerk first," another voice interrupted from somewhere behind the pair, startling them both. "Find someone else to pick on, Gilbert."

"But I haven't seen her around before, and it's so funny when she's angry," the boy countered, cocking his head to one side before placing his hands on Zoey's shoulders teasingly. "I'm just trying to shake her up a bit, Michelle."

The girl shook her head in disapproval before offering Zoey a warm smile. "Hey, don't listen to him. Gilbert likes to annoy everyone he sees," she consoled. "My name's Michelle. I think we're in the same class together. Zoey, right?"

The girl's smoldering brown eyes and matching dark hair were, indeed, familiar.

"Yeah, but I don't think we've ever talked to each other before."

"Well, it's never too late to make a new friend," she assured, ignoring the retching sounds that Gilbert had initiated beside their exchange.

"Ugh. You guys make me sick! This is why no one likes girls—you're always trying to make friends and dress up dolls. It's gross."

Apparently used to Gilbert's antics, Michelle giggled brightly, sending the boy a pitying look. "You don't have to be jealous, Gil. We can always dress you up instead. I know you don't like being left out."

"Eww! I'm outta here," he finally surrendered with a little groan before retreating to join the other boys in the class. Zoey watched his departure with a smidgeon of curiosity, barely catching the hint of trepidation in boy's step as he moved out of earshot.

"He thinks he's so cool because he's a fourth grader. If he ever starts bugging you again, I'll be there to help you out," Michelle promised, leaning over the desk to peek at the abandoned math homework. "I wish I could be as smart as somebody like you."

Zoey scoffed and shrugged her shoulders. "I'm not that smart—my dad was good at math."

"Well, I still think you're smart, and you're lucky to have a dad who can help you with your homework."

Flinching at the statement, Zoey tried to explain something that she rarely ever attempted to discuss. "Actually—"

"My dad's better at cooking than anything else," Michelle continued without skipping a beat, not noticing that she had cut Zoey off. "You should come over for dinner some time and see for yourself!"

"Come over?" Zoey asked, clearly perplexed. She'd never been over to a friend's house before—it was always just Alfred and her for as long as she could remember. "Really?"

"Sure! It'll be fun!"

A strange feeling stirred in her chest, and she suddenly felt a tender happiness poke beneath her skin. For a moment, she felt awake and rejuvenated, aware of a deep desire hiding in the back of her mind—a craving to be childish and silly for a little while.

What would it be like to have a close friend?

Perhaps, staying at home for a lifetime was a tad bleak.

* * *

"What a day, huh?" Alfred brooded as he plodded alongside Arthur to the car, glasses askew and hair ruffled like the feathers of a displeased bird. "If one more person tells me they have chest pain, I'm going to hurl myself into the middle of a busy highway."

Arthur huffed softly, fumbling with his bag for a moment to retrieve his keys. "If you wanted an easy job, you should've signed up to be a school nurse."

"Yeah, but where's the adventure in that? I want to treat more than just pinkeye, nosebleeds, and scrapes."

"Well, you can't have it all, can you? Transfer to pediatrics."

Alfred considered the suggestion for a few seconds as they entered the car, scowling at his reflection in the mirror. Sunken eyes stared back at him, protesting behind his eyelids as he blinked away some of the weariness. "If I did that, I wouldn't get to see you, and I'd hate for you to have to miss me."

"Oh, yes. I'd be heartbroken," Arthur droned, starting the car before heading toward Zoey's school. "God forbid I should have to spend my work days away from you."

Alfred smirked and nodded with a distinctive quality of importance. "Exactly, and that's why my place is in the ER."

"In that case, you have no right to complain," Arthur established firmly, smothering a yawn behind his hand. "I, on the other hand, will gripe and grouse as much as I please due to the fact that I have to tolerate your presence."

"Everyone knows that nurses do all the hard-work while the doctors slack off. Where's the justice in that?"

The older man glowered, sneaking a languid rub across his eyes. "The next time you're suffering through a potentially fatal illness, remind me not to care. After all, I'm too lazy to bother with something as trivial as treating someone."

"Well, maybe you're an exception. The majority of doctors just hand out orders to everyone else like they're superior," Alfred amended as they reached Zoey's school. Upon reaching the appropriate building, he hopped out of the car without further comment, making his way for one of the many classrooms and enduring the cacophony of shrill shouts emanating from the children.

He rounded the corner and spotted Zoey immediately by her head of blonde locks and bejeweled backpack. When she gathered her things and approached him, he held out his arms for a welcoming hug. "Hey, Zoeybee. How did it go?"

"Okay," she reassured, waving goodbye to the teacher as she exited the room with Alfred in tow. "I made some new friends."

"That's great! See, I told you it wouldn't be so bad," Alfred murmured with pride, petting her hair. "What kind of new friends?"

"Michelle and Gilbert," she said uncertainly, wringing her fingers as Alfred carried her backpack for her and slung it across his shoulder. "Michelle even asked if I could stay over at her house some time."

Beaming with glee, Alfred abruptly lifted her up and spun her around for good measure before setting her on the ground again. He'd been worried that she would hate having to stay in the afterschool program, but things seemed to be looking up. "Of course you can! We just have to talk to her mom or dad and make sure it's okay with them. Now, let's go home because I'm dead tired."

"Did you help a lot of people today?"

"You bet. I had about three patients with myocarditis—it was pretty rough."

"What's that?"

"Myocarditis? It feels kind of like a heart attack, but the blood flowing to your heart isn't blocked. Instead, the heart swells up because of a virus or bacteria," Alfred explained with a few elaborate hand gestures. "Do you know where your heart is?"

Zoey pointed to the left side of her chest. "Yup! It's right there."

Giving an impressed hum of appraisal, Alfred said, "That's right. Wow, you'd make a great nurse! I'd better be careful before you end of stealing my job!"

He managed to get a laugh out of the child as they entered the car once more, and the sound eased his grogginess like cold water on a burn. He exchanged a glance of acknowledgement with Arthur before they began to make their way home.

"Arthur's had a chaotic day too," he murmured after a while. "It's not easy taking care of sick people."

"Why not?" Zoey replied, interested to learn something new.

Alfred gave her a thoughtful look and shrugged his shoulders. "I guess it's because people who are sick are never in a good mood, and it's our job to be understanding of them. Not everyone appreciates our help, but we make them comfortable and better anyway."

"Oh."

At this, Arthur released a little groan of distress. "Yes, some individuals enjoy making our jobs difficult and, subsequently, give us migraines."

"Your head's been hurting since lunch. Stop being so stubborn and take some painkillers already," Alfred demanded, snagging Arthur's bag from the backseat beside Zoey and rummaging through the pockets. He retrieved a bottle of medication and removed two pills, passing them to Arthur when they had reached a stoplight. "Why do you carry around acetaminophen if you're not going to take it when you're in pain?"

Zoey watched as Arthur downed the pills with fascination. He grimaced, and his brow twitched as he fought through the wave of aches. Yet, there was something alluring about the idea that such a small capsule could cure an illness.

Her pondering was interrupted as Arthur and Alfred continued their small talk no more than a minute later.

* * *

"All right, kiddo! Are you ready to go to Michelle's house? I spoke to her daddy and he said you're welcome to come over any time you like," Alfred informed during the following week, as he had promised, handing Zoey a backpack full of things she'd might like to play with while away. "I've gotta head to work, but Arthur will drop you off before he heads to his office. He'll be back to pick you up at around five o'clock."

Zoey shuffled from foot to foot with anticipation. "Do I have to go with him?" she whispered lest Arthur overheard.

"Hey, be nice. You know I'm working this weekend," Alfred admonished. "Why don't you like staying with Arthur?"

"He can be mean sometimes."

Alfred chuckled and patted the child's back. "Arthur? Nah, he's got a soft spot. You'll get to know him better soon. Now, gimme a hug and kiss before I go."

Zoey abided with a begrudging air and closed the door behind her uncle after their goodbyes, pursing her lips as she returned to her morning routine. Arthur was still preparing for the day in his bedroom, so she went about brushing her teeth and playing with the straps of her shoes as she waited.

She wondered what Michelle's house looked like and whether or not she had a big family. It'd be nice to have a bunch of siblings to talk and play with all day, and she often considered what her life would be like with a giant family of cousins, grandparents, brothers, and sisters. Not that she disliked Alfred by any means—it was merely isolating sometimes.

"Come along, Zoey."

She jolted up from her position on the bathroom counter, trailing after Arthur at a swift pace to ensure that they could get to their destination as hastily as possible. Fortunately, the trip proceeded without any delays and soon Zoey clambered out of the car and tried to quell the immense ball of anxiety that had formed in her throat.

Arthur smoothed the wrinkles off of his shirt with one hand as he stepped out of the car behind her, head tilted slightly to one side in thought. He scanned Zoey's form with a scrutinizing gaze, trying to be discreet as he recognized her apprehension.

"I hope you wouldn't mind if I had a word with your friend's parents," he said, letting his gaze wander across the row of townhouses.

Zoey did her best to hide her relief, but her shoulders relaxed and her expression softened without her permission. "No, that'd be okay."

The street was mute aside from the occasional gossiping passersby, and it glowed with a dignified ambience that left no room for frivolities. There was a distinct lack of children, and a stillness had perforated the surrounding area to such an extent that Arthur grew conscious of the sound of his own breathing.

They scaled the stoop of one of the many identical houses and knocked on its door with an inexplicable heaviness on their shoulders.

"Allô? Oh, welcome! You must be Michelle's friend," a tall man with a stubbly blond beard and an animated glimmer in his eyes greeted them. "Please, come in! Michelle will be out in a moment she just—"

The remainder of the statement seemed to escape the man, and he balked at the pair on his doorstep, baffled.

Zoey hesitated to speak up in fear of appearing rude, but when she noticed that Arthur's expression mirrored Michelle's father, she could not suppress her curiosity. "What's wrong?"

"You are this little girl's father?" the man asked Arthur, eyebrows traveling up his forehead in shock. "You weren't the one I spoke to on the phone."

Arthur moved his lips to say something, but strained to speak for a long moment before finally recovering from the initial paralysis. "It's a small world, Bonnefoy. Now, if you'll excuse us, I think we have the wrong house. Come, Zoey."

At once, a strong hand wrapped itself around Zoey's forearm and began tugging her away from the door. She desperately struggled to break free, gasping and shouting at Arthur to release her. "Wait! What are you doing? That's Michelle's dad!"

"You can't stay here."

"Why not?"

Michelle's dad watched the scene with an amused smirk and limpid eyes, leaning against the doorway in contemplation. "Arthur! Come now—don't do this! Let the children enjoy themselves, hmm? I'll make us tea."

Arthur's grip tightened around Zoey's forearm, and the child let out a cry of pain at the harsh treatment. She could feel the constrictive tension in the air as she screwed her nose up in distaste and swiveled around to get another look at the house. When Arthur realized what he was doing, he instantly released her, apologizing profusely. "I'm sorry, dear. I don't know what's gotten into me."

Then, another voice chimed through the street, resuscitating the neighborhood with a hint of life. "Zoey?"

"Hi, Michelle!"

A hopeless Arthur remained behind as Zoey sped forward to join her classmate at the threshold. The two children exchanged an embrace and meandered inside, leaving the two adults to bicker outside.

"They are more civil than us," Michelle's father joked in good spirit, staring at Arthur with a sense of expectation. "Can you spare a moment?"

Arthur sighed and stole a brief glance at his watch, pleased to see there was still plenty of time for him to get to work. "If you put so much as a finger on my grandniece, Francis, so help me God, I will—"

"Grandniece? My, someone's grown old!" the other teased, hovering away from the doorway to allow Arthur entrance. "So, who was it I spoke to on the phone?"

"It's a complex story. I couldn't expect you to understand," Arthur griped as he stepped into the foyer. "I can't stay long—I have work."

Francis Bonnefoy nodded and ushered him into the kitchen for the tea that had been offered. Shortly after, they sat at the table like civilized company, extinguishing the worst of their mutual irritation. "You're a busy man these days, I assume, with your doctoring."

"I don't normally mind the long hours," Arthur replied curtly, stirring some sugar into his cup of tea. He'd had this conversation in the past. "Are you still a teacher?"

"Yes, I teach French at a nearby high school."

There was a stretch of silence as the two men settled into their musings, recalling a bitter history of rivalries and contempt. They could faintly hear the children talking to one another from the upstairs bedroom, but welcomed the noise.

"Are you still upset?" Francis dared to inquire after the silence had become suffocating and musty.

"Over the fact that you were a horrible college roommate?" Arthur continued, shifting in his seat and pursing his lips. "Unfortunately, I don't think I'll ever be able to reconcile with the fact that you ruined my youth."

Francis mustered a lighthearted laugh, forcing the conversation to take on a brighter tone. "Oh, don't be dramatic. I was referring to your infatuation."

Arthur felt his face flush against his will, thankful that Zoey wasn't present to spectate. "In retrospect, I was a fool for allowing myself to become attracted to a woman that you were capable of pursuing. That's all in the past now, and I don't wish to dwell on it, thank you very much."

"Ah, right… So, what's the tale behind this 'grandniece' of yours?"

"There's nothing to tell. She's simply the daughter of my nephew, and I'm temporarily aiding in her care."

Francis scoffed with skepticism and took a long sip of tea. "I find it hard to believe that you randomly happened to entangle yourself in the care of a child. Which nephew of yours does she belong to?"

"Connor's son, Matthew."

"I see… How's Connor faring nowadays? I haven't seen him since those terrible parties he used to invite us to."

Uncomfortable with the topic, Arthur found some consolation in wringing his hands while casting looks at his watch every few minutes. "He moved back to Ireland after the divorce, and his children grew up with their mother in Boston. He's still a bastard, I imagine."

Aware of the increasing amount of fidgeting from the other, Francis lowered his gaze to the Arthur's fingers. "Still unmarried?"

"I don't spy a ring on your finger either, frog."

Francis rubbed his stubble-laden chin, and—for the first time—Arthur noticed the weariness in the other's features—the irises drowning in pools of exhausted turmoil and broken possibilities. He could see the 'almosts' and the 'what ifs?'—the 'sorrys' and the 'second chances'. Tedious nights of circling arguments and frenzied emotions were part of the memories burned into his eyes.

"Some partners don't last forever. They say divorce is a trend these days, and I hate to be a follower, but it was the right thing to do."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that," Arthur murmured genuinely, jumping in his seat with a start as he heard the children racing down the stairs. It would soon be time to go. "Does she still visit?"

"Not as often as I'd like her to, but yes…" Francis trailed with a distant expression. "I don't want to be the reason someone's cold isn't treated, so I won't hold you any longer. Let's not inform the girls of this."

Arthur dipped his head in agreement and compiled his belongings, casting Francis an empathetic frown as he stood from his seat. "I'll return in the late afternoon, in that case. My warning still stands, mind you."

"Oh, don't worry. I've been on the receiving end of your anger too many times to put myself in such a situation; she'll be fine."

And so, he risked leaving Zoey in the other man's care (albeit with reluctance). No matter how much Francis infuriated him to no end, he supposed he couldn't keep Zoey from seeing her new friend, especially when he considered the child's problems with opening up to her peers. He could tolerate Francis, if necessary, so everything beyond that was rendered irrelevant.

He made his way to his office without a hitch, prescribing antibiotics for various bacterial infections and administering vaccinations for the majority of the day. When finished, he contacted Alfred to let him know that everything was in order and returned to the Bonnefoy household to pick up Zoey. The child thanked Francis for allowing her to visit and then was returned into Arthur's care.

The Frenchman could be trusted, after all.

The sun began to set upon the deafening quietude of the street, and the two made their way back to Arthur's home.

"Did you have a good time?"

"Uh-huh," Zoey had answered without preamble or forethought. "Michelle taught me all about sea otters."

Arthur managed a confused smile and peered at the car's rearview mirror to observe the child's expression while driving. "Sea otters?"

"Yeah, they're her favorite kind of animal. They sleep on their backs in the water and eat squid and octopuses when they're hungry. I think it would be weird to eat slimy fish like they do every day!" she exclaimed, scrunching her face up in disgust. "Do you think I'll get to see one someday?"

Arthur gave the request some thought before saying, "I don't see why not. I'm sure Alfred wouldn't mind taking you to the aquarium to see them."

"That'd be really fun! Maybe Michelle could come too!" Zoey suggested, brimming with an enthusiasm that Arthur had never seen the child wear so proudly. "After that we talked about the talent show. It's on Wednesday, remember?"

It was pleasant and rare to see the child so lively, and thus, Arthur played along with her excitement. "Yes, I remember. You invited me, if I recall correctly."

"Uh-huh! I won't tell you what song we're singing because it's a surprise, but Michelle and I were practicing the words for the show."

"I'm sure it'll be lovely," Arthur encouraged as he parked. Then, the pair accompanied each other into the house, sharing the remainder of their conversation indoors. He could hardly believe he had brought the same child home with him, seeing as Zoey spoke at such a length that it was difficult for him to halt her in time for dinner.

After a bit of fruit for dessert, they finally went about their separate ways and occupied different rooms of the house, unwinding in the serene and warm enclosure.

That is, until Zoey felt her stomach begin to grumble in complaint, despite having just eaten. A pain seemed to gnaw through her abdomen, sending shivers down her spine and making goose bumps appear on her flesh. She let out a soft moan of complaint and laid on her bed miserably, unwilling to call Arthur for help. She didn't want to be deemed sick and not be allowed to go to school to talk to Michelle and Gilbert, so she searched for an alternative solution.

What did one do while they were ill?

Surely, some medicine would help. She tried to think back to the medicine Alfred used to give her when she was unwell, but it tasted foul and she doubted she would take it even if she did manage to find it.

And then suddenly, she remembered the pills that Arthur had taken for his headache. If she could find where he kept them, she could cure herself and neither Alfred nor Arthur would ever have to know!

She crawled out of bed and scratched at an itch on her arm before climbing down the stairs. Arthur's messenger bag was usually hanging on a hook in the foyer, and she felt rather certain that what she sought would be in there.

Standing on the tips of her toes to reach, she lowered a hand into the bag and rummaged around for the medicine bottle, managing a triumphant smile through the pain as she located it. With great care, she twisted the lid and broke open the bottle, blinking at the pills as though she had found diamonds.

"Zoey? Alfred will be home soon and—" Arthur stopped in his tracks as he reached the base of the stairs, his face becoming extremely stern within a matter of seconds. "What are you doing? Why were you looking through my bag?"

His eyes lowered to witness the bottle in the girl's hands, and he swept forward so quickly that Zoey barely had any time to blink before she was snatched up and into his arms. A split second later, she was deposited on the couch with a firm instruction to stay put.

"Did you take any of the pills? Don't even consider lying to me!" Arthur pressed with a worried urgency, chest heaving with furious breaths. "Zoey!"

The pain was worse now, and she couldn't prevent the gush of tears that sprung into her eyes. "No! I didn't do anything!"

With impeccable timing, Alfred took that moment to unlock the front door and enter the house. His face became solemn upon seeing the ensuing controversy, but he kept his distance to allow Arthur to finish dealing with the situation.

"Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to take medicine that isn't yours? You could've poisoned yourself!"

"I didn't mean to!" Zoey wailed with a sharp intake of breath, bringing her feet up to her stomach as she sprawled across the couch.

Arthur still continued to fume, spinning on his heel to face Alfred with grim features. "I told you that you have been too lenient with her! This could've led to stomach bleeding or death, so what do you have to say now?"

Sluggish after yet another long day at work, Alfred barely could find the strength to feel any anger toward Zoey or Arthur. However, he knew he had a responsibility to get to the bottom of the situation, and he supposed he would have to do something in order to find a solution. "How did this happen?"

Arthur tried to formulate an explanation, but it was difficult for him to speak over Zoey's crying, and the sound was beginning to take its toll on his emotions. So, he directed his gaze at the doubled-over figure and sighed. "Stop crying, Zoey. Let's talk like adults."

"I can't! It hurts!" she mumbled through a hitch of breath, face stuffed into the couch cushions.

Upon hearing that claim, Alfred rushed over to the child's side as well and placed a steady hand on her back, rubbing circles into the tense muscles. "Where does it hurt, Zoeybug? Let us have a look at it."

The child sniveled and pointed to her stomach with another heartbreaking sob, unable to find the resolve to speak.

"Your tummy?" Alfred reaffirmed before coaxing Zoey into a supine position. "It's all right, kiddo. Arthur, we've got tummy monsters on the loose."

The physician felt his anger fade as quickly as it had flared, and he crouched beside the child and Alfred to put the insanity to rest once and for all. He attempted to pull up Zoey's shirt, but she resisted with all of her might, still hysterical.

Alfred brushed the hair out of her face and murmured reassurances to her. "It's okay, Zoeybee. Let Arthur take a peek at your stomach. I pinkie-promise that it won't hurt."

Zoey extended a pinkie and made sure that Alfred properly shook it before settling down. As soon as she conceded the battle, Arthur successfully whisked her shirt up to her chest and ran his hand over the sore abdomen, searching for any swelling.

"Where does it hurt? Can you point to it?" Arthur asked in a much gentler tone, still scanning the girl for other symptoms.

"It hurts everywhere!"

He sighed and shook his head, frowning at Alfred as the younger man smiled back at him knowingly. "She sounds just like you do when you're ill—indecisive and overwrought. Zoey, I need to know where it hurts the most so that I can localize the…—hives."

Alfred creased his forehead, leaning in closer to see. "What did you say?"

"Hives," Arthur repeated with increasing surprise. He took hold of the girl's left arm and pointed out the irritated bumps on the reddening skin. "It's an allergic reaction, but to what?"

"Maybe it's something she ate at her friend's house?"

"I don't think so, something this severe would've started forming earlier… Damn it all to hell," Arthur groaned, plastering a hand onto the side of his cheek in anguish. "It's one of the fruits she had for dessert—probably pineapple. Get the Benadryl from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, and hurry."

Not wasting a single second, Alfred dashed off to retrieve the requested medication, fumbling around the cabinets in the bathroom for a short while before returning with a racing heart. He passed the bottle to Arthur, who tried to calculate the appropriate dosage.

"How much does she weigh?"

"About sixty pounds."

"Twenty-five milligrams, then. These are each fifty. Cut a tablet in half with a knife," Arthur ordered, keeping very calm as Alfred passed him the modified pill and a glass of water. "Sit up, Zoey. You need to take this."

She followed the orders and took the medicine, whining once more as she began to take notice of the inflammation on her arms. "It's itchy!"

"I know, sweetie," Alfred cooed before sending Arthur a look of deep concern. "Anaphylaxis?"

Arthur shook his head resolutely. "No, she would've had respiratory distress by now. It should be all right again once the Benadryl begins working."

After a few deep breaths to calm himself, Alfred nibbled at his lower lip and managed a wan grin. "Zoey, did you go into Arthur's things so that you could get the medicine by yourself?"

It took a moment for the girl to respond, and when she did, she knew there was no use in denying her intentions. "Yes."

"You know you should always tell an adult when you don't feel well. Never take any medicine by yourself because you could do more harm than good, okay?" Alfred rationalized, feeling mildly sick with worry. His stomach churned from the stress, and his hands were still shaking.

"Okay. I'm sorry."

The apology was delivered in such a pitiful tone that neither man could stay annoyed at the child. She barely understood right from wrong, and Alfred hated himself for almost failing to protect her.

"I love you to bits," he told her, placing a kiss on her forehead.

"I love you too, Alfred."

Arthur clicked his tongue in impatience and gave Zoey a chiding look. "Don't do anything so foolish ever again. Now, rest—the medication will make you sleepy."

The child managed a tired nod, already easing into a doze and picturing sea otters diving in and out of the ocean with fish in their mouths.

"Love you too, Arthur."

Arthur drew in a long inhale and draped a fuzzy blanket over her—fuzzy like the otters. "This is why I don't have children of my own," he grumbled, ignoring the goofy grin on Alfred's chipper face.


End file.
